UNEXPECTED SIGNPOSTS ON OUR ROAD TO OUR INDEPENDENCE.

Our road to Independence is going to take many unpredictable twists and turns over the coming years. Will we get there in the end? Of course we will. Will we get there in the way we think? Almost certainly not.

From time to time I have heard commentators make what seems to me a pretty interesting point. They reckon the day when our Independence finally gets over the line, the final push will come from south of the border.

As in a shove into the future from our fifty million English neighbours.

Obviously as 'New Scot' who was born and raised in England, this theory has always got my attention. And the more I have thought about it, the more I agree with the premise.

So how will this work in practice? Well here are a couple of random things which have happened in my life over the last few weeks which give a small clue.

Random thing number one. 

A blog of mine. I wrote the blog in question several months ago. it told the story of one of our cleints at the food bank, a young guy who had cycled all the way from Manchester to Dumfries, asking for homeless accommodation in every town along the way. The answer was a firm 'No' in Wigan, Blackburn, Preston, Lancaster, Kendal, Penristh and Carlisle. Then he cycled by the 'Welcome to Scotland' sign and he was given a room on his first night. Right here. In Dumfries.

The blog was read over 60,000 times. If you didn't see it, you find it via the link below.

MY BLOG FROM A FEW MONTHS AGO

So what? So something strange has happened over the last few days. Well. Strange for me. As a rule of thumb, a blog runs its course over the first few days and then it is read no more. Blogs have a short shelf life before they are parked up in an internet version of a dusty archive.

Well, for some reason this particular blog flickered back into life last week and for no explainable reason it attracted 5000 readers. This is a lot for me. I am no kind of celebrity. I only merit 1000 followers on Twitter and I did nothing whatsoever to promote the blog.

So where did all of these unexpected visitors come from? All Google can say is they were from the UK. My gut feeling tells me they are from England. I am not any kind of Facebook guy, but even I have noticed more and more online conversations between people living in England and people living in Scotland. Strangers in a virtual land. And it is the people living in England who are asking all the questions. Will I be welcome if I up sticks and move? Emigrate? Flee? And do I need a passport? And what are the schools like? And if my daughter decides to go to Scottish university will this mean she can get a Scottish passport once you guys are independent?

Millions of people living in England are in a state of shock right now. They no longer recognise the country they live in. They take a look around and feel appalled. A sense of dread. Those with the wrong skin colour feel a gnawing sense of fear. As do those whose surnames end in 'ovic'. All over England people are beginning to consider the option of finding a lifeboat to jump into. Those with sought after skills and fat bank accounts are starting to Google Canada and Australia and New Zealand. Others without ready cash and the right certificates are looking north. Up the M6. To Scotland. To us.

Last week Dami called in for a chat. Dami is the daughter of one of the Nigerian families we helped through the nightmares of the 'Hostile Environment'. I asked her if she had noticed the appearance of lots of new black faces in the town. Absolutely she had. She has only been here for three years, but already the difference is unbeliveable. As the white half of a mixed race family, I am pretty hard wired when it comes to noticing new black faces on the high street. Or in Tesco. Dumfries isn't anyone's idea of a cosmopolitan town. When we arrived twenty five years ago, Carol was always the only black face. And my lads were invariably the only two brown faces. Not that this was ever any kind of problem. Not like Blackburn. Well those days are well and truly gone. So where have all these new faces come from? They certainly haven't availed themselves of Westminster's warm and friendly immigration policies. Instead they have come up the M6. Internal migration. Sick of the rising tide of racism. Sick of the xenophobia. Sick of the strutting nastiness. Sick of Little England and the Little Englanders.

The new black and brown faces are easily noticed. But what of the new white faces? Like mine was twenty five years ago? How many are crossing the border every single day? Selling up idiotically over priced houses in the cities and towns of England to finance a new start in Scotland?

Is it thousands? Tens of thousands? Maybe? And who are these people who are so disgusted and appalled at the world around them? A few words spring to mind. Educated. Liberal. Tolerant.

Was it five thousand of these people who found their way to my old blog? And were they looking to put some flesh on the bones? They are hearing stories of a shining city on the hill. A sanctuary. Like Sweden in 1938. But is it real? Or is it an urban myth? Can I really get an appointment with a GP in less than six weeks? Can my son really walk home from school without being spat at and called a Paki? Will my daughter really be able get a free University course? Will our new baby really get the chance to breath actual fresh air?

Is it real? Should we go?

Well I get the feeling they are coming. Maybe it is trickle which might soon become a flood. And most will come with skills, energy and ambition. The same kind of immigrants who turbo charged America in the nineteenth century. A boon to us and brain drain to England. And which way will they vote when Indyref 2 comes around?

No prizes for guessing. For most, I have no doubt it will be the same way as it was me. Is for me. Throughout history, new immigrants who have fled oppressive home countries always become the most fervent of patriots in their new country. Their sanctuary. Their shining city on the hill.

These guys will be no different. When you arrive at a place where your kids don't have to suffer being spat at called Paki, you really appreciate it. You sign on the dotted line. You don't take it for granted. You take a side.

OK. Random thing number two.

It's a cold, windy night. It's the first Anfield game of a new decade. Liverpool are away and clear at the top of the Premier League. Sheffield United are newly promoted and basking in one of the best away records in the division. 3000 of South Yorkshire's finest have made the trip over the Pennines to roar on their boys. Loud and proud.

'You fill up my senses,
Like a gallon of Magnet,
Like a packet of Woodbines,
Like a good pinch of snuff,
Like a night out in Sheffield,
Like a greasy chip butty,
Like Sheffield United,
Come fill me again
Na na na na na...Ooooohh!'

None of their fire and fury bothers the Mighty Reds in the slightest. Liverpool keep the ball and make a mockery. It's so conclusive it's almost boring. With twenty minutes to go, the Reds are 2-0 ahead and cruising. Time for some substitutions to rest legs weary from the hectic Christmas programme.

The board goes up. 26. Andy Robertson. Our Glaswegian left back. New rules dictate he must leave the field at the nearest point. To avoid time wasting. So Andy exits on the Sir Kenny Dalglish side of the ground and makes his way around the touchline towards the dug out. At first his progress is met by thunderous applause for the home fans. Then he reaches the away end and all of a sudden South Yorkshire's finest explode into howling rage. Twisted faces and pointing fingers. A sea of V signs. And one word slammed out into the cold January air.

'ENG – ER – LAND !!!! ENG – ER – LAND!!!!!

ENG – ER – LAND!!!!!!'

So there it is. Andy is a Scot. The new enemy within. The new 'other'. The last time I saw a similar reaction from away fans to one of our players was way back when in the late eighties. Then the player in question was Johnny Barnes. Who of course was black. And for the avoidance of any doubt, they threw bananas at him.

Well it seems being Scottish is the new black. Maybe we should be flattered.

The UK will be leaving the EU in a couple of weeks. The deed will be done and all those who worshipped at the alter of Johnson and Farage will be eager for another enemy to aim their bile at. Of course anyone with the wrong skin colour will continue to be front and centre of their xenophobic ire. But it seems like we Scots are being lined up to play the part of the new Enemy Within. Traitors. Trouble. Perfect to play the same villianous role as the Irish, the people of Liverpool and the miners played in the 1980's for those who like nothing better than to sing 'two world wars and one world cup' on the back of a few pints.

And how will we Scots feel about this? No prizes for guessing. We'll be Seriously pissed off. We're not exactly known for going all meek and mild in the face of adversity. There are lots of died in the wool unionists who aren't about to change their minds no matter what yessers like me have to say. But once the spitting venom of those 3000 South Yorkshiremen reaches the mainstream and the red top tabloids, well I reckon we'll soon see a different story start to emerge.

So there you have it. Two random things. Two signposts on the road. And with every passing day, journey's end is starting to take shape.