Ruth Davidson is a living breathing example of quantum theory, a living demonstration that it is in fact possible to be in two states simultaneously. And in that respect she is the very embodiment of Scottish Unionism. There she was just a short time ago, basking the adulation of the Foreigners Are Bad party in Birmingham, telling anyone who’d listen that the Scottish government doesn’t speak for Scotland. Although if she’d thought to follow her own train of reasoning to its logical conclusion she should have realised that she was also arguing that the Tory government doesn’t speak for Britain. It sure as hell doesn’t speak for Scotland. But then neither does Ruth. Ruth speaks for a small minority of Scottish voters and her fans in the Scottish media.
But thankfully everyone in attendance was far too busy to worry about that, being fully occupied throwing Polish people under buses and devising plans to give British born boy scouts and girl guides badges in being a doctor so that they can replace foreigners. First they came for the migrants, and the Tory party roared with approval. Ruth just took the plaudits, took the glory, and bathed in the red white and blue light of the UKIPifaction party like a lizard in the morning sun. I’m going to be the next First Minister of Scotland, she said with her darting tongue. And I’ll be a proper English language First Minister, nane o thon Furst Meenister nonsense in my North Britain. Oh no. The Tories applauded, as the only have experience of Ruth as a photo op in a fawning newspaper and haven’t quite grasped that most people in Scotland loathe them even more than they loathe foreigners.
And then Ruth came back to Edinburgh, fresh from her triumph of the will, only to discover that not even Wullie Rennie was willing to join with her on an attack on the SNP. At least not this week. Everyone was far too horrified at the bloodsucking vampires that the Tories had become, with their new found resolution that Brexit actually means deportations, putting EU citizens on special lists, and hating foreigners. You know that you’ve fallen pretty far from grace when even Anas Sarwar is able to talk down to you. Instead of feeling like Nigel Farage sucking up the applause of his acolytes, Ruth was suddenly feeling like the attendee at a UKIP party meeting who’d been punched in the gob. One after another MSPs lined up to tell her, all your pals are bastards. The Tories aren’t just the nasty party any more, they’re the disgustingly foul sewer of rancid bile party. And you’re one of them, Ruth. Frankly, you smell bad.
But that wasn’t me, squeaked Ruth, who’d suddenly changed from tank girl to tanked girl and looked around franctically for a buffalo on which to sit for a cutesy photo op, finding only the bovine hide of Jackson Carlot who no one, not even his mother, could describe as cute. I love foreign people me, so I do, said Ruth with a hurt expression on her face. I said that they could stay here. I campaigned for us to stay in the EU, although I’ve now changed my mind what with important career considerations and everything.
Admittedly I also campaigned ferociously to ensure that no one in the Scottish parliament could have any influence over whether foreigners get to stay here or not, but the fact that the Tory party has morphed into a version of the National Front with nicer suits and more hair is nothing to do with me at all. Oh no. I just support them wholeheartedly, me and Big T are like sisters, so we are. And am I not my sister’s keeper? Eh? Says so in the bible. Now can we please get back to saying how bad the SNP is? No one told me that the holding to account thing cut both ways when I took this gig. It’s so unfair. I blame Nicola Sturgeon for turning Wullie Rennie against me. It’s probably a foreign plot. Now let’s talk about how the SNP don’t want to allow fracking. That’s really bad so it is.
We’re not talking about fracking today, replied Nicola Sturgeon with the weary resignation of a nursery teacher who’d spent the afternoon explaining the difference between small and far away. Today we’re talking about coal gasification. It’s a different thing. You’re a Tory Ruth, you ought to know about expressing gas.
Even wee Ross Greer got laid in, and when you get your arse kicked by a Green it’s pretty much time to concede defeat and crawl away and hide under a rock. Ruth pouted, and tried to deflect the criticisms back onto Nicola Sturgeon, where all criticisms rightfully belong in Toryland. Isn’t it the case, said Ruth, that the Scottish government needs to do a whole lot more to promote Scottish products abroad. She waved a report from the Fraser of Allander Institute, which said, and I paraphrase, that the Scottish economy is going to be absolutely gubbed after Brexit. Rather like Ruth was being gubbed at FMQs come to think of it. Isn’t this report evidence that the Scottish government needs to do more, she pleaded, and not in fact evidence that the Tory government is responsible for an economic disaster? Because if you pee all over someone’s carpet you have the moral authority to demand what they’re going to do about the smell.
Her balloon was burst as soon as Nicola Sturgeon gently and kindly, like explaining to a small child why peeing on the carpet only embarrasses themselves, that it was Ruth herself who railed constantly against the Scottish government having any sort of presence abroad at all. Yet there she is now complaining that it doesn’t have enough of a presence abroad. Could she please make her mind up. But the truth is that there’s not much of a mind there at all. All there ever was were photo opportunities and snarky tweets.
Poor Ruth, never has there been such a mismatch between the hype and the actual delivery since the release of the Matrix sequels. You’re doing pretty badly when even Keanu Reeves gives a more convincing delivery of his lines than you do. Outside Scotland quantum Ruth is a political collossus, inside Scotland she’s a lost little girl. If Ruth is the great saviour of the UK who’s going to lead the campaign to keep Scotland in the Union, independence is definitely a certainty.
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