FAREWELL ALEX, YOU WERE EVERYTHING A POLITICIAN SHOULD BE.

I've had this thing happen a time or two over the last few years. Not many times. Three or four maybe. I will be talking with someone about Independence and politics generally. And I will say a thing which leaves the other guy all but speechless with shock. You know. Like announcing I am a long term undercover agency for North Korea or owning up to having a life size poster of Donald Trump on my bedroom wall.

So what could cause such a horrified intake of breath? A pretty straight forward statement really.

It's when I tell them the first time I voted after emigrating to Scotland, I voted for the Tories.

Boooomf!!

 There you have it. Click away now. Unfollow. How could he....?

How could he indeed? How could the Lancashire lad who watched his home turf smashed beyond all repair by Thatcher's wrecking ball have voted for her party? Was it some kind of breakdown? a midlife crisis? A dalliance with mind altering drugs....?

For Christ's sake Mark, just what the hell were you thinking!

Well the answer is simple enough. Of course I didn't vote for the Tory Party. That would be like supporting Man United in a Champions League final. Instead I voted for the man. Their candidate. For Alex. And you know what? I was both a privilege and a pleasure to cast my vote for him.

Let's just say if Carlsberg did politicians, then they would look a lot like Alex.

Time to go back. How far? I guess it must have been 2004. First Base was a two bit little charity and we were hanging on by our fingernails. We certainly didn't have many friends back then. The heroin tornado was raging at maximum intensity and every day saw more and more broken people coming through our doors. It felt like we were fighting on all fronts.

The local community despised us as do gooding incomers who were little better than 'Junkie Lovers'. In the days following an article in the local press where I always tried to tell things from the addict's point of view, I would be met with expressions of pure loathing. When I checked my shopping out at the supermarket, the women on the till would more or less throw my receipt at me. Back then, trying to point out the fact that the vast majority of heroin users were good people who had made a bad choice was much like trying to extoll the virtues of ISIS today.

The local authorities hated us every bit as much as the community. Back then, the NHS treatment services were an utter disgrace. They pretended to offer help when in reality their draconian, pitiless regime was almost Mugabe-like in its casual cruelty. We tried to flag up the appalling way people were being treated and ranks duly closed against us. We were branded as trouble makers. We were starved of funding. People put the phone down on us.

In fact, the only people who seemed to like us were the 1500 heroin users whose lives were being made such an abject misery.

And then one day the phone rang. The voice on the other end of the line said it was the office of Alex Fergusson. Well you can imagine the first thought to flash through my head. You must be bloody kidding. Mordor was on the phone!

Well obviously it wasn't THAT Alex Fergusson. Instead it was our local MSP. And the voice on the other end of the phone said Alex would like to come and see us to ask some questions about the heroin crisis. And I said it would be absolutely fine and we set a time and a date.

This was a major first for us. Nobody much came to see us in those days. Certainly not elected politicians. To be honest, I was astounded. And intrigued.

'Google' time. 'Alex Fergusson'. A South Ayrshire farmer who had been in Holyrood since 1999 when he made it in via the list. In 2003, he managed to win Galloway and Upper Nithsdale by a paper thin majority of 99. Christ, that must have been 'squeaky bum time' in the words of the other Alex.

However one word in the potted biography jumped off the screen at me.

Eton.

Ah. One of those. And straight away I pictured a vast country pile and guys clad from head to toe in tweed out on the moors dropping grouse from the sky. I reckon I probably have more of a balanced view of old Etonians than most Lancastrians. I had several mates from Eton in my University days. They tended to be lads like Sebastian in Brideshead Revisted. You know. Borderline alcoholics and mad as a bag of frogs, always happy to be cartoon versions of themselves.

But this was different. Eton. Landowner. Tory. Up went my hackles and I resolved there than then to lay an ambush.

I remember it was a baking hot day when Alex came to call with his assistant. We met in the reception area and my first impression was of a guy who was much more of a farmer than an old Etonian. He was dressed casual and when he shook hands it was clear he was used to a whole hell of a lot more manual work than I was. A big bear of a man with a beard and an easy smile.

I told him I had given our meeting a bit of thought. Maybe the best way for him to learn about the hard realities of the heroin crisis would be to get it straight from the horse's mouth. So we had asked a few of our clients along to tell him all about the car crash lives they were living. Six of them. And they were all upstairs waiting.

He never missed a beat. If anything his easy smile widened a notch or two whilst is bag carrier looked like he was about to hyper-ventilate.

Of course we had chosen carefully. Four females and two males. Not one of them backwards at coming forwards. Not one of them known for missing and hitting the wall. Each and every one of them with a whole bunch of stuff to get off their chest. Each and every one of them fired up and ready to give it to 'The Man'.

With both barrels. 

Of course we had read them the riot act and demanded they be polite. They got it and we trusted them to stay the right side of the line. But they were angry. Bloody angry. Rightfully angry.

And straight away Alex was making his way around the table shaking hands. I watched and I was impressed. Our clients tend to be hyper sensitive when it comes to people judging them. It is like the way dogs can always sense fear. Like the way a black person can always sense racism not matter how deep it is buried.

I saw the recognition in their faces. A slight surprise. A huge appreciation. There was not a single ounce of judgement to be found in Alex. 

He took his seat, rolled up his sleeves and got them talking. And boy did they ever talk. The meeting was only supposed to be an hour but it lasted for much longer than that. Our clients talked about it for months afterwards. The big bear of a man who seemed to understand. Who didn't judge. Who obviously cared. Our clients tend to be expert judges when it comes to people. They have to be. Their day to day lives mean swimming with sharks all day, every day.

They liked Alex. They trusted him. Believed in him. Rated him. Were impressed by him. Liked him.

So did I.

In the years following this first encounter, I often went to Alex with tough cases where the State was treating someone badly. And every time he was there for our guys. Sometimes he got a result for them. Sometimes not. But he always left them feeling better than when he found them. 

So yes, when I voted Tory in the 2007 election, I voted for Alex and I was delighted to do so. And I wasn't alone. All across Scotland the SNP took its great step forward. Not in Galloway and Upper Nithsdale. In Galloway and Upper Nithsdale Alex put his majority up from 99 to 3333. His vote share went up by 10%. He completely bucked the national trend. So I wasn't alone. Far from it. Right across his rural constituency the voters put a cross in the box next to his name. It wasn't because his rosette was blue. It was because his heart was in the right place. It was because Alex was everything a politician should be.

I bumped into him often during the frantic weeks leading up to IndyRef in 2014. He was out and about selling the Union and he stayed a country mile clear of the lies of Project Fear. Instead he used plain words to express his own affection for the Union and why he believed in it. Had he been at the helm of 'Better Together', the task of the 'Yes' campaign would have been a great deal harder. Many of the politicians I had come to know through First Base became ridiculously hostile during the campaign. Most stopped speaking to me. Many still refuse to pick up the phone when I call looking for some help for one of our clients. 

Not Alex. He was more than happy about the fact we were on either side of the fence. Me carrying the 'Yes' torch with such enthusiasm was absolutely fine by him. Of course it was. Alex was an old school democrat.

By this time, he had gone on to great things and he had served as Scotland's Presiding Officer with great distinction. Not that you would have noticed. There was neither an air or a grace to be found. He still Alex.

When I heard of his death yesterday a wave of sadness washed over me. One of the good guys has departed the scene. One of the best. 

You'll be sorely missed, Alex. It was a great privilege to have known you.