Scotland seen from London

Yay! We made it onto the front page of this week's New Statesman! A whole edition devoted to little us, eh? Well, no, not really. 

Frankly, it's all a bit of a disappointment. Start with the front page: every cliche under the sun, as far as I can see, including our old pal the deep-fried Mars bar. A very kitsch set of pictures. But hardly symbols of modern Scotland - or any kind of real Scotland. No mention of the inventors of the 19th and 20th century, let alone the work done here on the scanning technology that let us see babies in the womb forty years ago, cloning, forensic anthropology, the development of video games, alternative energy, etc. There's a photo of the Forth Rail Bridge from the 19th century but what about the Forth road bridge, the new Forth crossing now under construction, the iconic Holyrood Parliament, let alone the amazing buildings now lining the Clyde and the Tay at Dundee? RBS, the failed bank, gets a mention but looking at this collection you'd think those of us in Scotland live off tartan and shortbread. 

And there's at least one mistake: it was revealed on TV last week that the guy in the fancy picture frame is not Bonnie Prince Charming. That's his brother, Henry. The Alan Ramsay portrait of Prince Charles Edward is much more interesting. 

And what rock group is this to his right? Not the Proclaimers obviously. Del Amitri? Biffy Clyro? Franz Ferdinand? 

You might think looking at the front cover that there's going to be some discussion of the independence referendum. There's a leader on the subject in which New Statesman accepts the unionist view without question, even endorsing Barroso's story about Scotland's EU membership and urging us to vote for the union because there's going to be a Labour government in 2015 (o yeah?) and it will give us all the social democrat stuff the Scots want (aye, right).  

There's a decent contribution by Alan Taylor, warning people down south to be suspicious of what the press is telling them is going on in Scotland and Prof Tom Devine describes neatly how Scotland got to where it is now. There's a factual account of Gaelic education - a real success story in Scotland. Other than that there are a lot of contributions from people with nothing to say about the referendum but who will be recognised by readers down south as being Scots.

There's a chat between Alex Salmond and Judy Murray, but the centrepiece is what the New Statesman calls 'an essay' by Alex Salmond. I'm not very happy about the tone of that. I can understand why the leader writer of this magazine can only see Scotland in terms of what independence would mean to the rest of the UK, but I would like the Yes campaign to stop trying to refute every argument put up by Better Together, the Tories and their pals. Independence has to be about more than that. We need to keep reminding the rest of the UK this is not about them - it's about us and our vision for the future. 

To end it all, Will Self mixes up the Erskine and Kincardine bridges - and he should know better, being married to a Scot and spending a lot of time here. 

But I suppose it's still better than last week's magazine which had one page devoted to Scotland (at a time when the Cabinet was on a flying visit here) and nine pages devoted to space travel, including three pages about a multimillionaire with more money than sense who wants to fly to Mars. Possibly by the time we get to September, we might have some decent discussion going on independence but I have a feeling it won't be in the pages of the News Statesman.

What's Plan B, Dara?

I gave up watching 'Mock the Week' and a couple of other comedy shows (was one called 8 out of 10 Cats or something?) because they were entirely populated by male stand-up comics who seemed to spend every programme showing off to each other. The panels consisted of the same wee group of men - and if a new person appeared on a show, you can bet your life it would be a man. Now the man in charge at the BBC says this domination of comedy shows by men-only panels will no longer be allowed, and Dara O'Brian is outraged. He has gone into print in today's newspapers to say so at some length. According to Dara, stand-up comedy is dominated by men. It just is.

Two things.

First, Dara works for the BBC - that is, for us, the licence-payers. He gets his wages from us so who the hell is he to be telling off his bosses for their decisions? In real life - not the sheltered world of the 'creatives' like stand-up comics - if you don't like what the boss tells you, you have two choices: shut up or leave.

Second, 51% of the UK population is female (probably more than that are TV viewers), so shouldn't the composition of the panels in comedy shows reflect the population? It should certainly reflect what viewers want. It simply isn't true that there are no good female comics out there. We know that from the popularity of people like Jo Brand, Sarah Millican, Sandi Toskvig and Susan Calman. Incidentally, Susan Calman owes a large part of her success to being promoted on The News Quiz on Radio 4 by Sandi Toskvig. Good for Sandi - the men have been pushing each other's careers for decades now. Why shouldn't the women do the same thing? The only TV comedy programme I've noticed that has two women on a panel is QI, but then that's presided over by the saintly Stephen Fry. But it can be done.

All the way though the 80s and 90s, women were told that giving them an automatic right to places on short-leets for jobs was a bad thing. All that time, some of us were asking the men in charge: Okay, if you don't want women to have the right to be represented on short-leets and you certainly don't want women-only short-leets, what's your plan to give women a fair share of the jobs? So there you go, Dara, that's your challenge for today: how do women comics break into TV comedy if the men are busy looking after themselves and each other?

Blair and Brooks

There is something really repulsive about the email outlining the advice Tony Blair gave to Rebekah Brooks over the phone hacking business.

It's not the fact that a former Labour Prime Minister is pals with Rebekah Brooks and her man, who are in turn best buddies with the Cameron set. Nor that Blair and Brooks seem to be the best friends of the Murdochs. Though it would be good to remind him of the old saying: lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas...Not even that Blair seemed to think what she did at the News of the World - allowing or even encouraging hacking into the phone of a dead child - could be defended. After all, Blair was a lawyer and they get paid to defend the indefensible. 

No, the worst thing of all is that the things he told her to do - hold an enquiry, get this firm of lawyers to act for you, etc - these were part of  strategy Blair had used himself to avoid the British public looking too closely into the death of Dr David Kelly and the circumstances surrounding the so-called Weapons of Mass destruction held by Iraq - you know, the ones the USA and UK invaded Iraq over - the ones that never in fact existed. 

The results of all this? The Murdochs and Blair are still riding high. Blair has never been brought to account over the Iraq invasion. He still makes millions from public speaking. Milly Dowler is still dead. Dr David Kelly too. And there's every chance Brooks will walk away unscathed from the trial she's currently involved in. 

We always express shock when we hear of corruption in other countries - what, people actually hand over cash to get the version of justice they want? How terrible! It could never happen here. But if this case and these people aren't evidence of corruption at the highest level of British society, the word has no meaning any more. 

My Pizza Hell

I heard from a friend yesterday that yet another Scottish-themed restaurant in our wee corner of East Renfrewshire has been sold and is reopening as an Italian restaurant. I'm not sure exactly how many Italian places there are here, let alone how many we need, but I do know there's been a rash of bog-standard 'Italian' restaurants opening up, not to mention at least 4 pizza delivery places - and I am not a fan.

Let's start with what they offer. If you're part of the waiting staff, I'm the person holding things up while I wonder which is less deadly to my gut: pasta or pizza - and those seem to be mostly what's on offer. Neither is friendly to IBS or any other gut problem: full of gluten, high in carbs and low in protein. Notably lacking in veg. The local cafe in the Avenue at Mearns Cross offers an Italian side salad so revolting no one could eat it. I ordered it once: strips of soggy iceberg lettuce covered in balsamic vinegar. When I complained I was told that this was an authentic Italian salad. Not in any place I've ever eaten in Italy.

What's the attraction of opening an 'Italian' restaurant? I suspect it's the absence of fresh ingredients. Everything can be prepared in advance and re-heated (in a microwave maybe?). I've seen tubs of pre-cooked pasta behind the counter in a couple of places. What does it take to offer freshly made pasta, for heavenssake? Twenty minutes - and a serious commitment to fresh food? I've also been in some places where I suspect there was a Brake's van permanently parked at the back door, since no serious chef could produce lasagne or risotto as bad as that.

I've only eaten in one decent Italian place in Glasgow and that was Carluccio's. Top notch ingredients well prepared. The antipasti and mushroom risotto were both excellent. Yes, I've eaten in Jamie's - over-rated, in my opinion.

But I really want us to support places like the White Cart, a local pub in Busby, where I had lunch yesterday with friends. We had the 2 courses for 12 quid menu: the starter was a poached egg on a slice of black pudding on a slice of bacon - with a wee bit white sauce over the top. Wonderful. Followed by fish and chips and peas - too many chips but you can leave them - we did. Some protein, some veg and hardly any carbs. All praise to the chef, whom I've just lauded on Tripadvisor.

This is passive smoking

I gave up smoking about 32 years ago but quite often say to smokers: Just blow it my way - I don't mind passive smoking - it's as close as I'll get to a real fag. After today, I take it all back. I've found out what passive smoking means.

Alex and I offered to do Monday afternoons at a new library. We went to three houses. After the first house, I was ready to call it a day and go home.

This house was dark. More accurately, it was brown: brown ceilings, brown carpets, brown paintwork, brown furniture, brown curtains, brown windows. The wallpaper had once had flowers on it - you could see their outline - but now it was just yellowish-brown. It looked as if every surface had a covering of yellow gunge on it. And the smell. O gawd, the smell. Years of nicotine build-up made me cough as soon as we walked in. We weren't offered a seat - just as well, because nothing would have persuaded me to sit on that furniture. I doubt if a window had been opened here in twenty years.

The man handed us a supermarket bag with library books in it. The bag was brown too and it stank. We got out as fast as we could and I had to use my inhaler on the doorstep.

Back at the library, I described the house to the librarian as 'a health hazard.' She looked sceptical but then we handed her the bag and she gagged. We wondered what the next client would make of the reek coming off the books.

How many fags do you have to smoke to get your house into that state? Does he cook - and eat - in that atmosphere? Does the old boy have family? Do they visit? Have Social Work intervened? Is there a carer who comes in? Surely not! Has anyone tried cleaning the place up? And where would you start? I doubt if any of the TV makeover shows would even contemplate working on this house! Personally, I'd torch it and re-house him and the neighbours, whose own houses are probably stinking too because of him.

Gross. That's the word. And we have to go back in three weeks' time!

What is up with Tesco?

I ordered a wee lightweight hoover to have upstairs and do the stairs - my old Dyson weighs a ton - and arranged to pick it up from Click and Collect at Tesco Silverburn. I use Tesco quite a lot but mainly for online grocery shopping which comes, thank goodness, from the Renfrew shop.

Tesco Silverburn is a disgrace. Dirty, badly laid out with no thought to the customer.

The Click and Collect used to be at the main door. To make room for a dry cleaner's, key maker's and I don't remember what else, it's been moved to the bottom of the store sandwiched between Tech Support and Customer Service (don't make me laugh or we'll never get through this). Luckily I'd got a trolley when I went in. I'd never have been able to carry this large box - most of it packaging - the length of the store. The motto on the trolley park covers, by the way, is 'helping the environment'. But I digress: the assistant couldn't get her wee machine to work and spent quite a long time looking for the 'manual book' so I could sign for the hoover. I headed for the exit, found it barred off and a large security guy sitting in front of it. I asked if he could let me out, as my car was just outside. 'Sorry', he said, 'you'll have to use the main entrance'. The other end of the store, of course. 'Why?' I asked. He looked puzzled. 'Eh, company policy.' 'What policy is that?' He shrugged. Probably the most eloquent he'd been all day. But I know why. Tesco Silverburn is notorious for the amount of shoplifting that goes on and I could just see the local jakies and druggies (don't kid me on - you've got them too - every community has) legging it through that exit with their arms full of swag. Lots of poor people in Pollok. But why have a security guy there now that the exit is not in use?

On my way to the main entrance, I decided to have a coffee in the cafe. You'd think I'd know better. Dirty tables, heaped with crockery, food all over the floor, not enough staff, all looking harassed. Rotten Costa coffee. Worse than Morrison's Giffnock or Asda Govan - and that's saying something.

MInd you, I think the whole concept of Silverburn is a disaster. Very few shops for ordinary people to shop in but since Tesco is, I think, the only real supermarket and the company has a captive market, you'd think they could make a bit of an effort. I won't be going back. I'll find another place to pick up my Click and Collect stuff - or may be I'll just get it from another company that understands what service is.

Another sunny day in Govan

After the flitting last week, I had an old microwave and a duvet long past its best taking up most of the boot of the car so before we could start doing our book run for Elder Park Library today, Alex and I dropped in at Shieldhall Recycling Centre - or the dump as we used to call it. We parked across the road and carried the stuff in. As soon as we appeared, he heard a guy in a hi-viz vest shouting. You know the kind of Glasgow shout: Haw! followed by a piercing whistle.

I'm used to the dump at Greenhags in Newton Mearns, which is not the friendliest of places (I once wrestled a table into the boot of the car and wrestled  it out again at Greenhags and struggled to take it to the area marked 'Wood' watched by 3 grown men in uniform who made it clear they were not up for helping me in any way). At Shieldhall, I expected us to be flung out or sent elsewhere or just told off.

I decided to stay shtoom and let Alex do the talking. The conversation was short and sweet:
- Is this aw yiz huv goat?
- Aye
- Right, gie us that (the duvet) and jist leave that there (the microwave) - Ah'll get it.

We thanked hi-viz man profusely and left him to it.

I don't know if all Glasgow's dumps are as welcoming or if we just met a nice guy, but Greenhags, take note: It's nice to be nice.

Clever NHS

I reckon I'm pretty savvy when it comes to text-speak but I've had two messages this week from my doctor's surgery - now referred to grandly as a medical centre - and I haven't been able to make any sense of either:

Message one, headed NHS-no reply:
Tma for hypertension and ? flu inj giffnock.medicalcentre@nhs.net

Phoned the medical centre. Oh yes, the nurses have been going through their records and they think it's time for your annual blood pressure check-up (tma stands for to make appointment apparently) and they also want to know if you're going to have the flu jag this winter. First of all, I have my annual MOT in June. And second of all, I have already told the practice twice I'm not having the flu jag - just as I didn't have it last year or the year before. Still, I'll show willing and arrange a hypertension visit to the nurse. The scary one, Carol Anne. The one who sends my blood pressure soaring.

Today another text message came in: this is to remind you of your appointment at 14.50 on Wednesday 05 of February...if you are unable to attend, text back CANCEL to 07800008113g49445.mjog@nhs.net
No part of this address is a mobile number. Nor is it an internet address. I've tried various arrangements of these letters and numbers. Nada. So if I need to cancel I'll have to phone the surgery - sorry, medical centre - which kind of defeats the purpose of having the technology.

What I really want to do, of course, is march right in there and say: To the meeting room, all of you! Here is the news:

If you're going on to text alerts, put a message on your website. Maybe even have a wee campaign in the surgery - medical centre - asking folk if they want text alerts and if they do get them to give you their mobile number. A lot of your patients are older, so try out the new system: send out a text alert about flu jags in November or jags needed for exotic holidays in May. And give folk time to get used to it.

Text in English. You may know what tma stands for but your patients have no idea.Text in sentences and use words, not abbreviations. If you're sending messages out to hundreds of people, you can take the time to make your message clear. It'll save time in the long run. If your message doesn't make sense or is too long or complicated in text-speak, phone the person right off. Again, it will save time in the long run.

Finally, don't get excited about computers or mobiles. Remember, there is a generation around now that has never known a world without computers. If you're lucky enough to have one of those in the medical centre, use their expertise. And above all, remember you're a MEDICAL centre. We won't judge you by your ability to text or surf the net. As long as you're competent in medical matters, we'll be happy.