I will start with a confession. I quite like Nicola Sturgeon. She’s wrong about indy, but that doesn’t make her a bad person.
John Swinney’s middle name is Ramsay, so he can’t be all that awful.
What’s more, I once shared a few kind words with Nick Clegg. Willie Rennie makes me laugh.
I’ve hugged and joked with Labour front-benchers.
I’ve even taken tea with Trots, and eaten my five-a-day with the Greens.
I have friendships with politicians, advisors and assorted hangers on from every corner of the political divides. Well nearly all (sorry UKIP).
Because of – not despite – my time at Holyrood and in No10, there have been occasions when I have felt a kindred spirit with all of them, at different times, on different issues. (I will spare my buddies’ blushes and keep them free from cyber attack by offering a fig leaf of anonymity. They know who they are.)
My point is that the divisive, partisan, me-good you-bad politics portrayed in the media, especially social media, is sometimes far from the truth.
Don’t confuse Twitter with the real world.
I don’t deny that on big constitutional issues there are fundamental disagreements. There needs to be robust debate about where our best future lies. Politics can be a contact sport and on Brexit and Indyref some of us will never agree. But that doesn’t make me good or them bad.
So here’s the thing. Most of those we charge with representing us are well intentioned, hard working, good people who share many common goals. They agree that we need world class health services, schools and businesses. They want a country at ease with itself and with the world. They want to look after those in need and (nearly) each and every one of them cares about the communities they serve.
None of this is to argue against vigorous debate. Quite the opposite. The battle of ideas is essential to democracy and good government. The market works in politics as in real life.
But what hacks me off is the simplistic assumption that if Party A says “tick” then Party B must say “tock”. That a blue “ying” must be challenged by a red “yang”. That a politician’s policy on public services must be supported or opposed purely because of their position on the constitution.
It’s bunkum. It’s mad. It’s bad and it is dangerous. There is no monopoly of wisdom. Not even in this column.
Politics doesn’t have to be like Tinder. You don’t have to swipe right or left all the time. It is OK to quite like someone.
Of course some of the blame for this state of affairs lies with the politicos themselves. It is sometimes easier to define yourself by what you oppose, rather than what you believe in. I
But let’s face facts. We, the public, are not blameless. The modern media and our fickle attention span have played a part. We digest our news 140 characters at a time. We seek certainties in an uncertain world. We just can’t be bothered thinking things through. Nuance? No thanks.
Pretending that every choice is black or white when we live in a multi-coloured world is simplistic nonsense on stilts.
So let’s hear it for a clash of ideas. Let’s reject cosy consensus for consensus’ sake. But let’s recognise that there are common goals and common destinations and that often the argument is about how we get there. And sometimes, when it comes to domestic policy, the other side might have a better sat nav.
So, to mix my metaphors and without going all Boris on you, at it’s best politics should be like a game of rugby. You can knock seven bells out of each other for 80 minutes on the field of play.
But please, once we’ve had a shower, can we all go to the bar afterwards and share a pint?
Mine’s a coke, first minister.
Things can’t be too bad in Britain these days. Prime ministers can go and come. The Labour leadership battle can be bitter and divisive. The weather can scorch us one day and swamp us the next.
But, bless our little cotton socks, our top concern is about the Great British Bake Off.
Forget Brexit (other than the colour of a passport) We just care about #Breadxit.
It’s scone from Auntie.
Soggy bottoms will now be available on Channel 4. Cooking times will be adjusted for ad breaks.
Mel and Sue would rather not have their Lady’s Fingers in the schedules of the commercial broadcaster.
But, if it’s a crumb of comfort, I’m certain that Dave will rise to the occasion and show endless repeats. And roll on The Great British Tea Party on the Beeb instead?
And with that prediction, my terrible puns and innuendos can end.
I popped down to London for a couple of days last week to catch up with some chums. Much of the talk was about Brexit and what it means. What is the name for a collection of Brexperts?
Anyhow, whilst refuelling in my hotel on Friday morning, my mind wandered back to our European holiday in Sicily earlier this year.
Each morning, we were presented with a mouthwatering but vast range of food to suit the varied tastes of the hotel’s international clientele. There was the Italian version of the full English, platters overflowing with different cuts of cold meat, a cheese for every letter of the alphabet, assorted breads, pastries, spreads and jams, and a cornucopia of cakes and fancies which would have made Mary Berry purr with joy.
Now maybe it’s just me, but first thing in the morning I can’t cope with all that choice. Where to start? When to finish? Was I having breakfast, brunch or lunch – with afternoon tea thrown in?
It all left me yearning for those simpler days of yesterday when what you ate was what you were given.
When breakfast meant breakfast.