The day began with a protracted ugh this morning. My brain, in its infinite wisdom, has taken to keeping me awake in the wee small oors while it chunters away producing scraps of poetry and grand philosophical concepts and it will not let me sleep. I say wee small oors because last night we watched a programme about the Scots language. OH is very enthusiastic about this and has always wanted to go back and live in Scotland; what with being a McIntyre Ure and owning a spurtle and everything. Frankly, the thought of leaving England to its own devices and moving North grows more appealing by the day; every time I listen to Nicola Sturgeon I think how eminently sensible she sounds compared to Boris Johnson (yeah, I know most people fit into that category but still.) Independence looks closer by the day and there’s still a chance that an independent Scotland could rejoin the EU under its own steam. They’ve got a good case for it; Scotland never voted for Brexit and besides, they have a history of sovereign nationhood and forming alliances with other European countries – well, France anyway, which is more than England ever did. I’ve more and more sympathy with independence as time goes by; the only drawbacks would be for England as it’d be near impossible to get a Labour government again. Then again, who knows?
Ironically, some hard-line Brexiteers are also in favour of independence – for England. These people think England can float off and go it alone, make our own way in the world and give these johnny foreigners what for. It’s madness. But it’s a madness that informs current government ‘thinking’.
I’m ashamed to be English right now. We’re an embarrassment.
Kurk oot
Sarada Gray 
I seem to have settled into a routine of waking at about 4 am, which I’ve rationalised [to avoid any anxiety-inducing auguries of unspecified illnesses; I do have asthma, however] as a natural concomitant of having reached ‘a certain age’. I can usually doze for a couple of hours or so thereafter, with Radio 3 playing quietly in the background, and the darker mornings are some sort of compensation for leaving what passed for summer behind.
I’m no nationalist, but I couldn’t blame Scotland for seceding: I despair of England. A dear friend who writes for a campaigning website [the North Yorks Enquirer] tells me that he eschews fretting about the national & international situations, because he can’t do a damn thing about them, whereas he can have some influence over the local situation, hence his work; that notwithstanding, holding any public official to account, even where there is irrefutable evidence of malfeasance, seems to be virtually impossible…… There appears to be a moratorium on democracy right now.
Cheers, Jon.
I think your friend is very wise