MIND Kate Maclean? Coorse ye dinnae. Weel, hou’s aboot Keith Raffan, or Marlyn Glen? Dinnae fash if the names dinnae ring a bell. Wi twinty years o Holyrood joukery-pawkery noo in the buiks, it’s a miracle ony o us still mind tae wash oor faces in the mornin, never mind pit names tae aw the fowk wha’ve been coontin oot oor dinner money for us this past wee while-o.

Twinty years! Like Willie Rennie, ah dae ma ain sums, sae ah micht be oot a wee bit – but by ma Poundland calculator, that’s three hunner an three fowk that hiv been sent fae aw the airts an pairts o Scotland tae rin aboot Holyrood like absolute maddies, sprayin the windaes wi shavin foam an duckin ahint the couch when the electricity man comes. Tae keep a shaw like yon on the road for aw this time, an wi nae serious accidents, is a thing o wunner; an the idea o closin the Scottish Pairliament noo occurs anely tae Darwinian survivalists an the fella fae the cooncil that turnt aff the ghost containment unit in Ghostbusters…

Alba gu bràth, muchachos; when it cams tae fly men, wasters, radges, heid-the-baws an waw-tae-waw roasters, oor wee pairliament can staun shooder tae shooder wi the best/warst o thaim. Richt fae the verra first cohort that teuk the oath wi wan haun, an the ermine wi the ither, oors has been a pairliament o uised-car salesmen an anthropomorphized seagulls; twice-heatit kyle like Jack McConnell, the original plastic man in a plastic packet, a wairnin fae history aboot the limits o human DNA an 3D printin. But twinty years o Panini albums later, ask yersel this question – wha is Scotland’s warst MSP ever?

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Murdo Fraser, o coorse, is the man wha beat the man; the Pele o the pettit lip, the Bob Dylan o the bunnit-hustle. Incapable o winnin an election, coontin past ten, or daein the richt thing (even bi accident), Murdo is that faur frae in ony wey progressin the bizarre jumble sale o dotages that passes for his ‘agenda’ that we micht as weel be peyin him tae dae the Cha-Cha Slide ootside the Boots on Sauchiehall Street for aw the odds it’d mak…

But Holyrood’s aye had as mony weys tae sell the jerseys, an we’ve aw got oor favourites. Masel, ah’m richt intae the lifers, fowk that daundert in the door on Day Wan an are still there noo, slopin aboot in the biler rooms wi shoeboxes full o expense slips. Chiels like Iain Gray, whase anely howp o bein mindit for onythin ither than crouchin in the back o a Glesga sandwich shop is that some enterprisin historian twa-three hunner years fae noo thinks tae caw the deith o Labour in 21st century Scotland ‘the Iain Gray effect’…

Still, it teuk Iain Gray twinty years tae set aw that up. There’s sowt tae be said for makkin an immediate impact, and the Tories’ millionaire super-sub Edward Mountain – wha slipped intae Holyrood no sae much via the back door as bi climbin up the garbage chute – is that faur oot o his depth that it’d tak Frank McAvennie in a divin suit tae dredge him up again…

Aye, there’s a richt fiddler’s rally gaun on at the fit o the Royal Mile, an wance ye’ve stairtit doon the road o listin thaim aw, ye’d never stap. Ye micht never even get roond tae yer truly miserable individuals like Bill Walker, the wans that dinnae merit consideration for onythin cept immediate an thankfu forgettin.

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Still though … If democracy (as a recently discreditit politician wance had it) is the warst form o government apairt fae aw the ithers, ah cannae help thinkin that there’s a case for the corollary; that Holyrood is the warst pairliament that ever crouched at the end o a cobbled hill…. Except for aw the ither yins.

Which is no tae say ah’m aw clued up on the ins an oots o representational government in Tajikistan… Jist that if the direction o modren democracy is taewarts smawer an smawer bodies wi greater an greater pouers, as it shuirly maun be, then Scotland – as an awmaist perfectly-sized unit o democracy – is weel aheid o the gemme.

There’s a load o things aboot the cult o independence that ah’m kind o agnostic aboot. Ah dinnae believe in unicorns, or Scottish exceptionalism, or the white hat/black hat shoot-oots that pass for national debate. But whit ah’m a hunner percent shuir aboot is that the same thing is happenin tae oor democracy as has awready happened tae oor ile, oor watter, oor railways, an – comin suin tae a hospital near you – oor NHS. Ah mean the privatization o British politics, the monopolisation o the levers o democracy bi a loose affiliation o pollsters, populists, an freelance privateers.

We aw ken this. If there’s a teachable moment in the Brexit bourach – for nationalists an Unionists alike, Leavers an Remainers baith – it’s that Westminster politics is nae langer fit for purpose, inadequate tae respond or relate tae the will o the voters; but at the same time sae thirlt tae its wanweirdit coorse, sae howplessly doubled-doon, that even the donsie hauf hauf-meisur o Alternative Vote was hot-troddit oot o toon wi fire an pitchforks.

It disnae maitter whase corner ye’re leukin at it fae; Westminster an the Union are twa touerin monsters wi their teeth that deep in each ither’s thrapples that their deith-embrace is the anely thing keepin thaim baith staunin.

The collapse o the UK is imminent, an naethin can save us fae bein crushed unnerneath, the English as weel as the Scots, but the decision richt nou tae brek it aw tae bits, an disperse whit’s left o it tae the fower corners o the laund, like the relics o a saint; tae restore its pouer tae oor kintrae an oor cooncils, oor communities an oor citizens, tae me an tae you an – hell mend us aw! – even tae Murdo Fraser, if he can ever figure oot whit tae dae wi it…

Oor warst MSPs are no anomalies like Bill Walker, castaways cut adrift in the moral watters o oor shared humanity. Nah, oor warst representatives are the wans that represent whit’s warst in us aw; oor fears, oor failures, oor secret, sacred prejudices. Oor douts that things can ever be different. These totey men, that wad be lost in the thrang o a Commons or a Congress, look upon them as ambassadors o everythin that is defeatit an despondent in oorsels; the Shadow Cabinet o oor Shadow Scotland, barometers o the state o the national soul, proportional representation o oor ain battered herts. Valuable that, an tae be valued, a pairliament that minds us whit we really are. Hou breuken at times. Hou sad.