Its been a braw week for wee Surgin' Surgeon and her glaikit pals. They arrived at Westminster like a tram load o' galoots and proceeded tae gae aboot the place like they dinnaeken hoo tae act ootside their ayn hoose. Like a great blootered, bevvied up army o' choobs and chookters. Maybe it was the Buckie talkin'.
The huge faff that engulfed the Palace of Westminster at the arrival of the SNPists was the shock of the new. New is not something that is welcomed with open arms in SW1, so to have the tartan army show up en-masse and lay claim to wherever they wished to park their erses came as quite an eye opener to the stuffy, dust covered denizens in that place.
They took Dennis Skinner's seat. Dennis Skinner has been occupying that same spot on the front bench for as long as anyone there can remember. Of course, their powers of recall have been dimmed by the number and length of lunches they have embarked upon.
Skinner has presumably placed his towel permanently on that prime spot for the benefit of his constituents. The only other explanation is that he has laid claim to his own special seat for the benefit of his ego.
This is the man who considers himself a wit. At successive State Openings of Parliament, Black Rod minces in, all ruffles and buckles, and tells the house the other queen awaits to deliver The Speech, at which point, our Dennis uses the brief silence to issue his Witticism of the Year. It has become "a thing". None of his utterances have ever had so much as a glancing relationship with funny.
"I bet he drinks Carling Black Label" was one. School children used to say that to each other when the advert was on the telly. It was not funny from their mouths either. "Ooh, nice outfit" was another. He must have spent seconds on coming up with that one.
To use the occasion every single time the ceremony is held to draw the spotlight to himself is infantile and egotistical, and so perfectly reflects the behaviour we witness from the entire house whenever we see Prime Minister's Questions.
The Scots, strangers in a strange land, naturally enough wanted to cling together like new born ducklings. They wanted to make an impression, impose upon the place that they had arrived. Occupying the entirety of the bench would do the trick. Dennis had to be unseated.
There followed much harumphing from traditionalists, of whom Gerald Kaufman was pre-eminent in the silliness. The Scots poured in and claimed their prize, casting Skinner to the rear. An occupying force of Scottish bums on seats.
By coincidence a "security alert" cleared the chamber and on reopening, a Labour Luddite reclaimed the space for Dennis who repositioned himself in his favourite spot forthwith.
This is about the level we are at with this lot. Fighting over who sits where, like kids playing musical chairs, meanwhile the country runs itself.
We shud a' be fair affronted, ya ken?