Corridors of power
A week ago, we headed south to Caledonia's capital for a Grand Day Oot. The plan originally was to attend a poetry award ceremony, but deciding early doors that we couldna be arsed wi the literati, we splashed instead along the Royal Mile to gape at the Scottish Parliament. (See pics below). First impressions were not favourable. Outside, the building was eerily reminiscent of a hotel on the Costa Brava, with some dodgy looking faux-balcony type affairs at the windows, unfeasibly dressed up with boorichs of what looked like garden canes. Along the Canongate wall, wee stones sported quotations from assorted representatives of the Great and Guid of Scottish Kulcher, including Burns, Scott, Gray and Morgan, and a puckle fossils stappit in atween. There was a MacDiarmid quotation, which surprised me given his vehement political views, but I noted that his stone had been judiciously placed gey low doon on the waa, and had become somewhat discoloured, presumably because a passing dug had pished on it. (Thankfully, Embra's finest, Mr Irvine Welsh Esq., was missing from the display. I'd fully expected the usual 'Choose Life' diatribe to be up there with the rest of them. Had that been present, I'd hae pished on it masel.)
Undeterred, however, we went inside, joining a large queue of OAPs waiting in line to be security-scanned. There was a faint whiff of farts in the foyer, reminding me forcefully of my first ever job as a Library Assistant, where you'd try at all costs to avoid the children's section because of the sulphuric wafts. (What is it about books that makes kids compulsively break wind, by the way? Maybe it's not the books themselves but more the hushed stillness in the library that irresistibly lures children to drop a silent-but-deadly one before moving on to another shelf, smirking). Yes, where was I? O aye, Holyrood. Once it was established that we weren't armed with rotting vegetables and thus posed no risk to the person of the First Minister, we were permitted to trauchle upstairs and take our seats in the Public Gallery of the Debating Chamber. Were we impressed? Naw. There was a wealth (and I choose that word advisedly) of frosted glass and sycamore. Pity they hadn't gone to IKEA really, as I'm sure it'd have worked out significantly cheaper. I speculated that had the Parliament Building been designed in the 1980s it would surely have been kitted out in up-to-the-minute black ash. Call me a traditionalist, but wouldn't Scotland's seat of government be taken more seriously if clad in dusty leather and nicely buffed mahogany? Och weel.
Most of the great unwashed who parked their bums on the slidy seats of the public gallery sat for roughly ten minutes straining to hear the goings-on, before surrendering and sloping off to the shop. The sound system wasn't working properly, and all the discussions during General Question Time (we'd missed the First Minister's Question Time, sadly) were horribly distorted. The senior citizens groups which formed the bulk of visitors could be seen frantically twiddling with their hearing aids, assuming (wrongly) that their personal equipment was responsible for the din. When we left, a fine gentleman usher in parliamentary garb (a mauve sark and navy suit, to be precise), informed us that they were aware of the sound problems and were working to get things fixed. He was adamant that this was a one-off glitch... a problem affecting only that afternoon. "Aye right", we muttered suspiciously, "It'll be like that aa the time, ye ken. Ye'd think efter spendin aa that siller, they coulda pit in mics that worked."
Had we actually been able to hear anything distinctly, we would have come away from Holyrood better informed about "what action was taken at a national level to promote breastfeeding in Scotland during National Breastfeeding Awareness Week", and "what measures the Scottish Executive has taken to ensure that all horse owners are aware of the procedures and timescales involved in obtaining a horse passport". And if we'd managed to bide a bittie langer, we'd even have heard about "the Trial Reintroduction of the European Beaver".
We stayed an hour, then wandered back down and availed ourselves of the facilities. In the lavvies, I discovered, you didn't physically touch the taps, you simply waved your hands under the spout and water (gey hett!) would gush magically forth. (Remote control sensors apparently - that'll nae have been cheap!). Afterwards, browsing in the Gift Shoppie, I was amused to find a range of specially branded foodstuffs, including 'Scottish Parliament Fudge' and 'Holyrood Humbugs'. Mmmm. How apt.
Undeterred, however, we went inside, joining a large queue of OAPs waiting in line to be security-scanned. There was a faint whiff of farts in the foyer, reminding me forcefully of my first ever job as a Library Assistant, where you'd try at all costs to avoid the children's section because of the sulphuric wafts. (What is it about books that makes kids compulsively break wind, by the way? Maybe it's not the books themselves but more the hushed stillness in the library that irresistibly lures children to drop a silent-but-deadly one before moving on to another shelf, smirking). Yes, where was I? O aye, Holyrood. Once it was established that we weren't armed with rotting vegetables and thus posed no risk to the person of the First Minister, we were permitted to trauchle upstairs and take our seats in the Public Gallery of the Debating Chamber. Were we impressed? Naw. There was a wealth (and I choose that word advisedly) of frosted glass and sycamore. Pity they hadn't gone to IKEA really, as I'm sure it'd have worked out significantly cheaper. I speculated that had the Parliament Building been designed in the 1980s it would surely have been kitted out in up-to-the-minute black ash. Call me a traditionalist, but wouldn't Scotland's seat of government be taken more seriously if clad in dusty leather and nicely buffed mahogany? Och weel.
Most of the great unwashed who parked their bums on the slidy seats of the public gallery sat for roughly ten minutes straining to hear the goings-on, before surrendering and sloping off to the shop. The sound system wasn't working properly, and all the discussions during General Question Time (we'd missed the First Minister's Question Time, sadly) were horribly distorted. The senior citizens groups which formed the bulk of visitors could be seen frantically twiddling with their hearing aids, assuming (wrongly) that their personal equipment was responsible for the din. When we left, a fine gentleman usher in parliamentary garb (a mauve sark and navy suit, to be precise), informed us that they were aware of the sound problems and were working to get things fixed. He was adamant that this was a one-off glitch... a problem affecting only that afternoon. "Aye right", we muttered suspiciously, "It'll be like that aa the time, ye ken. Ye'd think efter spendin aa that siller, they coulda pit in mics that worked."
Had we actually been able to hear anything distinctly, we would have come away from Holyrood better informed about "what action was taken at a national level to promote breastfeeding in Scotland during National Breastfeeding Awareness Week", and "what measures the Scottish Executive has taken to ensure that all horse owners are aware of the procedures and timescales involved in obtaining a horse passport". And if we'd managed to bide a bittie langer, we'd even have heard about "the Trial Reintroduction of the European Beaver".
We stayed an hour, then wandered back down and availed ourselves of the facilities. In the lavvies, I discovered, you didn't physically touch the taps, you simply waved your hands under the spout and water (gey hett!) would gush magically forth. (Remote control sensors apparently - that'll nae have been cheap!). Afterwards, browsing in the Gift Shoppie, I was amused to find a range of specially branded foodstuffs, including 'Scottish Parliament Fudge' and 'Holyrood Humbugs'. Mmmm. How apt.
"O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An' foolish notion."
Indeed.
posted by Cattie, Severin Books at 5:08 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home