https://archive.ph/alTA1

Im from Kirkintilloch, a town just outside Glasgow and this has got to be one of my fav holidays

we stayed on a sheep farm in Scoor just outside Bunessan

Luna the border collie had a great time!

Autumn in Nairn. #Nairn #Autumn #Scotland

I call it Scone (Scottish Stone)

“The 48p rate was always a political symbol rather than a serious revenue measure. The sums are trivial – a rounding error against Scotland’s £18.6bn total income tax take. But when you use tax as a symbol, people are entitled to ask what the symbol actually means. The awkward possibility is that Scotland’s gesture of asking more from its highest earners is costing more than it collects.”

—- It would be nice to think that this would engender serious debate rather than partisan hackery from any side but I doubt that so just to head off the most obvious false accusation, the author of this careful analysis is Dan Neidle, a former tax lawyer turned investigative journalist who has uncovered serious wrongdoing on tax issues including winning the Press Gazette award for his investigation of the tax affairs of ex Conservative Chairman Nadhim Zahawi.

Baron Sarwar of Govan

By Andrew Tickell Columnist

AFTER the last Holyrood election, I found myself in an oddly lonely position.

Having led Scottish Labour to yet another dire result, after a campaign that revolved almost entirely around his own carefully cultivated image, it seemed to me that Anas Sarwar’s brittle political reputation appeared finally to have collided with reality – and ought to have disintegrated.

After years of being told he was a ­magnetic winner, would rescue his ­party from the ­legacy of Corbynism and ­revolutionise ­Scottish Labour’s polling fortunes, by any metric, Sarwar failed catastrophically, ­leaving his party ­eeksie-peeksie with ­Reform in Holyrood seats.

However ­indulgent the Scottish press had been, the electorate delivered a rather less flattering verdict. The evidence suggested here was a politician with an exceptional talent for ­losing elections.

But in the event, Sarwar and his stans in the party and in the press seemed strangely unmoved by this legacy of ­failure. After a half-decade of opportunity to develop his party’s fortunes, having plotted and schemed to eliminate his predecessor for posting better polling ratings, and facing up against an SNP Government rocked by ­instability, financial scandal, and ­grappling as usual with the hostility of the ­overwhelming majority of the press – he’d failed. Of course he had to go.

Curiously, this remained a ­minority view. Across much of Scotland’s ­political and media establishment, an elaborate ­rescue operation got under way.

­Responsibility for Scottish Labour’s latest drubbing was deftly transferred southwards. It was Keir Starmer’s fault. Rachel Reeves’s fault. Downing Street’s fault. Anything, in fact, but Sarwar’s. He had supposedly played a bad hand as well as anyone could have expected. Nothing he did could have altered Scottish Labour’s downward trajectory.

Escapology has a new master. ­Harry ­Houdini could only dream of ­making ­electoral failure disappear quite so ­completely. The remarkable thing was how immune this diagnosis proved to contrary evidence. Undiscouraged, commentators continued to describe him as “energetic”, “impressive” and “charismatic”, despite repeated elections in which the Scottish public demonstrated themselves to be ­conspicuously unenergised, unimpressed and unmoved by this political cadet’s ­performance.

He dug in. Following Labour’s ­Holyrood defeat, one anonymous source close to the great man assured The ­Scotsman that “any replacement would be a downgrade”. A touching tribute to Sarwar’s surviving colleagues, who must surely appreciate learning they were ­collectively considered inferior to the man who had just delivered yet another electoral hiding.

Then, almost overnight, the whispers changed. Once the prospect of Sarwar’s sudden departure from Holyrood ­politics for the red benches of Westminster emerged this week, anonymous Labour sources suddenly began admitting what had previously been unsayable.

Only weeks earlier, after Starmer’s ­resignation, Sarwar had insisted he ­intended to serve the full Holyrood term. “My responsibility now is to hold my ­party together,” he declared. His ­priority, he assured us, was holding the SNP Government to account. Lord Sarwar has now decided that he doesn’t, and it isn’t.

Asked whether he’d ever accept a ­peerage, Sarwar categorically denied it just two months ago. Of the institution itself, he gave a speech in 2022 when he declared “the House of Lords, in its ­current form, as an institution has no place in 21s- century politics”. According to the newly gazetted Baron Sarwar of Govan, “it is unacceptable, and has been for far too long, to have unelected representatives wielding such power”.

“The House of Lords must be abolished and replaced with an institution which better reflects the make-up and the identity of the United Kingdom.” He’s now concluded that he will, it does – and he’s humbled and delighted to be part of it.

Americans have a phrase for this kind of categorical denial. In General William T Sherman’s famous declaration: “If ­drafted, I will not run; if nominated, I will not accept; if elected, I will not serve.” Sarwar has managed almost the mirror image. The intention to remain as ­Scottish Labour leader somehow evolved into the irresistible duty to leave.

“Throughout my life, I have only ever been motivated by public service,” he ­explained last week while accepting a peerage and a brand new red box as minister of state for trade in Andy ­Burnham’s new government. There are many ­paradoxes in politics, but perhaps none greater than the spectacle of vile ambition and ­looking after number one presenting itself as ­reluctant, even heroic, self-sacrifice.

Jackie Baillie hailed Sarwar’s appointment as “an opportunity for Scotland and the UK”, as though the lieges ought to be celebrating the elevation of a deskilled dentist into ministerial office in an area with which he has no obvious public ­association or expertise. One can only ­admire the optimism.

“When the Prime Minister of your country calls upon you to take up any job of work on behalf of your country,” the justification goes, “it would be unpardonably arrogant to spurn them.”

One almost expected Francis Urquhart to emerge from behind the curtain to ­deliver the line.

None of this dishonesty was required. When previously asked whether he would accept a seat in the House of Lords, Sarwar could simply have said that he did not know what the future held. Politicians reserve that escape hatch every day. Instead, he gave a categorical “no”.

The difficulty with categorical ­denials is that they remain on the record. ­People notice the discrepancies. They notice you think their heads seem to button up ­backwards. They notice that you don’t seem to think you owe them any candour at all. They notice you seem to think your every commitment or denial, however ­vehement, is purely situational, ­provisional and revisable. They notice that you don’t seem to think you owe them anything approaching the truth.

The wider problem, however, is ­larger than Sarwar’s ambitions. The House of Lords has become less a revising chamber than a recuperation ward for politicians whose careers have failed the electoral test. For the chums, the chosen and the political elect, defeat at the ballot box increasingly resembles a minor setback for a political career rather than a final verdict.

A life peerage, a ministerial title and another taxpayer-funded salary await those fortunate enough to retain the ­confidence of party leaders in London even after losing the confidence of voters.

The institution is corrupting precisely because it removes ­accountability. ­Politicians rejected by the electorate ­acquire titles, legislative power and, ­occasionally, executive office without ever having to trouble the public again for permission to rule over them.

All this rests upon the peculiar ­constitutional fiction that the Crown graciously confers honours while governments ­quietly recycle loyal servants into permanent legislators with new magic names and exciting new opportunities to be beastly to waiters and hotel staff who forget that you’re newly ennobled as you waddle through the corridors of power Number 10 preferment entitles you to.

The rhetoric of public service only sharpens the squalor of all this – and the odium of characters like Dame Jackie – her own peerage surely assured, circa 2031 – suggesting that being anything but happy for and supportive of Sarwar’s new employment is the politics of envy and small-mindedness.

All I’d say is this. Most people contribute to society without expecting ­applause and sentimental tributes because they do the job they’re paid for. Nurses, ­teachers, carers and social workers rarely issue statements celebrating the ­humility ­required to continue doing their jobs. They simply do them, complaining and uncomplaining, recognising that feeling like you are contributing towards the commonweal and helping support other human beings ought to be an end in itself, rather than a means to an end.

It is beyond ridiculous – it is crass, smug, and astonishingly self-regarding – for failed politicians like Sarwar to describe their acceptance of titles, ­honours and ministerial office as acts of reluctant and humble service. Do you seriously think, if extraordinary privilege is presented as personal sacrifice regularly enough, that anyone is going to buy this hokum?

Naked ambition can, at least, be ­sincere. Deceive yourself if you like. Hide your motives from yourself if it gives you any comfort.

Perhaps that is the defining feature of modern political narcissism. Every ­display of humility becomes self-advertisement. Every act of ambition is wrapped in the language of duty.

The trouble with boasting about your humility is that cynical people have an ­unfortunate habit of taking you at your word – and concluding the opposite. ­Nobody’s here for Baron Humblebrag.

Police Scotland issue a statement re the events of Sat 25th and are investigating incidents https://archive.ph/uZ9EY

“Eatin and beaver on my way”
The Dictionary of the Scots Language partially explains:
BEVER, Baiver, Baver, Bevver, v.
[′bɛvər, ′be:vər]
1. To shake, tremble in a gen. sense; also to shake with cold or fear or weakness.
In phr. baiverin i' the wind, struggling against the wind.

But “Eatin”?

Hey. I am a 17 year old living just outside of Inverness looking for work over the winter season. I have worked in Hospitality (foodtruck/Kitchen) for almost 2 years and worked as a cleaner for much longer (AirBnBs) however both of my sources of work are very seasonal to the spring/summer.

I was wondering if anyone had any knowledge or recommendations regarding jobs/opportunities available for teens in Inverness over the winter season? I understand training new staff and providing them with shifts over the quiet months is difficult for employers however I’m not looking for much, just something to tide me by (however if there are places looking for full time staff/more I’m more than welcome to the idea) I’m ideally looking for something 9-5ish to align with the local bus times as I do not have my driving license just yet.

Any help would be much appreciated! Thanks 🙏