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Given the huge number of conspiracy theories, it is inconceivable that they are all wrong. The law of averages suggests that at least a few of them are capable of sustaining life.

So, any of the following may be probable: Dallas 1963, JFK - the grassy knoll was a crop circle; George W. Bush faked his own presidency; aliens have been in contact, but their chat was offensive and they were politely asked to leave; the Edinburgh Trams Project was devised by The Illuminati to distract the Scottish Executive while said Illuminati infiltrated the Holyrood corridors of power; the NASA moon landings were authentic - it was the safe return of the crews that was staged; Vladimir Romanov is 400 years old and arrived in Edinburgh on a deserted sailing ship; Andy Gray was set up by a shadowy cabal of right-on provocateurs; Facebook is quite harmless, John Lennon is alive and his “death” was no more than an elaborate conceptual art piece by Yoko. One of the above is true. Your task is to guess which one.

A tricky task, that, because we tend to take or leave conspiracy theories according to our taste. Some we find ludicrous, but others burrow into the back of the mind and sit there, muttering, wondering. And why not? They mark a wholly human cynicism and a desire for colour in a grey world. The truth, you see, is out there - but it is generally quite dull. It could do with embellishment. It benefits from conjecture and opinion.

So, conspiracy theories make the world more interesting and provide exercise for our imaginations. Demented or plausible, the mere possibility of a secret plot by clandestine players invites us to think twice, to doubt, to scoff or to believe.

Incidentally, the CIA killed Bob Marley.

Why I Want England To Win The World Cup

(published in the Herald, May 2010)

Since 1966, I’ve had to listen to Scots going on and on about how the English keep going on and on about 1966. And all that. Four decades and more of discontent and ill-will. If Scotland was a law firm, it would be called Grumble and Haver.

History, of course, has a part in this. Proud Edward’s Army (and all that). Now, I like The Flower of Scotland: good tune, great for whistling. But neither we (nor Wallace) actually sent him homeward. He was in Flanders at the time on other business. Naturally, it did make him think again. And he thought about it for a few months then he marched up the road and kicked our teeth in at Falkirk. Granted, that encounter was a game of two halves: the decisive moment coming late on with the introduction of Welsh longbowmen (their contribution equivalent to Beckham’s 92nd minute free kick in the qualifier against Greece in 2001). I note we have forgiven the Welsh their discourtesy of 1298. The SNP and Plaid Cymru are now pals. Alex, do you not know your history? We have not, though, forgiven England it’s malfeasance down through the centuries. (And as for the parcel of rogues, well, we don’t want to even open that).

So, here comes the World Cup 2010. And look: “Anyone But England”, say the hilarious t-shirts. Such sentiment lends power and veracity to the well-kent quote: “Wha’s like us – Damn few and they’re a’ embarrassed”.

Ach, say some, it’s just rivalry. What deluded, crow-pecked mind still believes this? The last time that Scotland was a rival to England on a football field, Elvis was with us, the internet wasn’t and a Snickers bar was a Marathon. Here’s a dictionary definition: “a person, organization, team, etc. that competes with another for the same object or in the same field.” In that sense, England, yes, are our rivals. So too are Brazil and Argentina. The Ford Ka is a rival to the Ferrari F430 and Hussein Bolt gets worried when he sees Chick Young lacing up trainers.

Some point out, reasonably, that it is the English media and it’s hyperbole which annoys. So choose different media. Watch foreign coverage on the internet, mute the sound and play Lady Gaga on your iPod. This will calm you as you watch 22 millionaires running around a field.

And anyway, had Scotland won the World Cup in 1966, do you think our media would be less irksome, less smug? (Lisbon Lions, anyone? The 3-2 win over England in ’67, anyone?) There’d be re-runs on our TV sets every Hogmanay, national holidays on Jim Baxter’s birthday. Only last year I saw Archie Gemmill’s goal provide the basis for a contemporary dance piece at The Theatre Royal. Iconic, yes. Didactic, perhaps. But had this piece been based on Geoff Hurst’s third goal in the 1966 World Cup final, there would have been people outside the venue with placards; letters to this newspaper. Fans with Laptops would cyber-attack the Theatre Royal.

I don’t claim to be non-partisan. (Even if I did, I’d find it hard to argue my case). Football needs the partisan. Without bias, we wouldn’t care who wins and football would be like motor sport or golf. My bias is Scottish - but that that should prompt me to wish malice on Theo Walcott or Steven Gerrard is simply demented.

Of course, on one level, nobody gives a monkey’s. It’s just football. Two teams of sweating halfwits who all own forty cars. On the other hand though, that Wayne Rooney is superb to watch. I’d happily see him score three in the final and I’d happily see him rub it right into the wrinkled noses of the muttering hordes of self-righteous bean-heads who populate this country. And don’t get me started on the Gaels. Those water-fearing clowns make the ordinary, Central Belt bigot seem like Nick Clegg. They just won’t let it go. And, yes, while football should stir the passions, it really shouldn’t make you clingy.

But as for English hyperbole? And the constant reminders of former glory? We’re just as bad as them and worse for pretending that we’re not.

Come on, England!

El Presidente Speaks To Perspectives Magazine

As the self-styled, democratically elected leader of the Greater Shawlands Republic, I invite all readers of Perspectives to join my movement. I appeal to all people of the Left: people of the near-left; people of the centre-left; people of the far-left; people who have already left, people who wish they had left and people who are wondering why they started reading this in the first place.

Brothers and sisters, may I introduce myself: I am El Presidente, leader of the gSR. My dream is of self-determination for the peoples of the south side of Glasgow and beyond. When that is achieved and when the area known as Shawlands is officially recognised as the capital of the south side of Glasgow, I can then hand power to the people, retire to my dacha in Pollok Park and begin writing my memoirs.

Following the recent UK general election, I telephoned El Camerone to offer my congratulations and to extend fraternal greetings from the gSR. I also requested £700 million for the regeneration of Shawlands. His response was notable for it’s brevity. I am sorry to say that relations between the gSR and the UK government have got off to a bad start. However, onwards. As we say here, “Avanti!”

In my quest for autonomy for my people, I recently went on a fact finding mission to the Maldives. I can now reveal the main fact which I found on that fact-finding mission: the Maldives is absolutely gorgeous. Closer to home, in the nearby area of Shawbridge, I have been taking soundings. I spoke to the people and heard their voices. I am still hearing voices. They cry for change. Democratic change mostly, but often simply for spare change.

It would be foolish, of course, for me to hand power to the people before the conditions are right. For the people are as children in the garden of the revolution. They are as potatoes in the field of change. And we cannot hand power to the potatoes.

Of them and of you, I ask only for trust, loyalty and some money. The money will be used to consolidate my power base and to buy an armoured vehicle. For my enemies are many. Last week the Internal Security Division intercepted a CIA ventriloquist who planned to put words in my mouth and discredit the movement. The ventriloquist escaped capture, but his dummy is currently helping the ISD with their enquiries.

Here are the basics of the gSR manifesto.

Equality For Most.
The gSR is currently looking at the concept of equality and will submit it’s findings to The Equality Committee in due course. I have yet to choose who will sit on the Equality Committee.

Reform of Financial Systems.
Instead of having workers' pensions used as capital to speculate on the stock market, we propose to simplify the gambling element and just put the money on a horse.

The Economy.
Any time that the economy is in trouble, we are told that the solution lies in the return of confidence. The gSR proposes to spread and accelerate confidence by legalising cocaine.

Health for All
It is a matter of public record that the NHS has more managers than it does nurses. This is the only example in human history of an institution where the bosses outnumber the workers. Even bees, I am told, have a better understanding of the division of labour. Ancient Egyptians too understood the concept: one pharaoh, lots of slaves. Had their hierarchy been similar to that of the NHS, the waiting list for a pyramid would have been ridiculous. The gSR proposes to improve health services by having more nurses than managers. This would improve patient care, boost morale and save millions in middle management consultancy fees. (Indeed, the consultants we hired to look at this theory say it checks out).

The gSR hopes to inspire all Scotland’s south side regions. In time, all the south sides will forge cultural links in a national federation. So, people of the left who live in the south: take heart, take pride and take one day at a time.

Forward together to the future of tomorrow! Avanti!

The Full Breakfast

In Ireland, I was seduced by a soda bread. You never forget your first. We'd met over a breakfast table in a small hotel, fuzzy after a Friday night of Irish standard drinking. A brief, wordless relationship ensued. A carbohydrate climax ensued.

Blame it on the drinks or on the Galway morning air or blame it on the boogie from the night before. It may have been poor judgement on my part, but I'm not for a second sorry. That soda bread, my friend, was just the ticket. Just the right thing to complement the splendid hot grub on the breakfast plate.

We are all, of course, attending to our five portions a day of life- enhancing vegetables and fruit. Cauliflower, bok choi, baby spinach, that sort of thing. I can barely type for drooling.

For us Celts and Northern Europeans - starved of sunlight and the joys thereof, prone to Seasonal Affected Disorder and the regular intake of alcohol to limit said disorder - the bliss of hot stodge after a night of fighting SAD is without parallel. The fried egg, the sausage (square or links - bring it on), the beans, the potato scone, the bacon with This Much ketchup, the warm buttered toast - God himself noshes into this stuff on a Sunday morning, reading the sports pages and wishing He'd sent somebody out to get another roll.

The presence of a tomato in a breakfast as described above is to some, incongruous. Others see it as providing balance – providing one of the five portions and boasting it’s healthy credentials further by the fact of being grilled.

The full breakfast is so-called because it leaves you full. The implication is that other sorts of breakfast leave you wanting more – and that’s no way to start the day.

One To One Communication

My girlfriend used Facebook for a couple of years, but recently returned to sanity. In taking that decision, her concern was that she may miss photos and news of her overseas friends and their new baby. But, of course, there are many ways of getting and receiving news from distant friends. Prime among these, not so long ago, was the letter.

Composing a letter invites pause, for thought, spelling and phrasing. Such pause is a tiny tribute to the recipient and a signal of care by the writer. The letter has meaning beyond it's content.

Now, oddly, in this electronic network age, much of the same could be said about an e-mail, if, that is, we compare it to the blithe semaphore seen on the likes of Facebook, where communication is intended for general consumption, is impersonal, is devalued for being so and carries a subtext implying that the crowd is more significant than you, the individual.

Now, a million words have been written about Facebook, but here's a handful more, just to set things straight. A Facebook page is a roomful of morons gazing at each others' navels. Regularly, someone adds fluff. (Alison likes this).

Twitter may be worse. A tweet is a text message sent to no-one in particular. A modern communication, but what it communicates - what it says - is something that will be studied by future generations. They will find evidence of our half-wit narcissism. Such evidence will be stored in The Cloud. (Pat likes this).

That e-mail allows cut, paste and spell-check does not diminish it. These are tools, not insults. The single recipient e-mail stands as a little reminder, albeit electronic, that one to one communication lifts us above the crowd. And that even this tweeting, buzzing, digital world need not be impersonal.