I’m going down south to see Kate Bush.
She isn’t ill, or anything but given how often she tours I wanted to see her before she looks like Miss Havisham.
Wow. Unbelievable. Know what I mean?
On my journey, having cast my vote, I’ll contemplate:
- Whether I should have brought my passport, in case it’s needed to get back into Scotland?
- Would it be valid anyway, as it’s a British passport?
- Will I have to thumb Alexander’s nose when applying a stamp to my letters to be delivered by, Well, who?
- Didn’t he play that Burke in Taggart?
- Is this why Nicola Sturgeon gave up her role as Ivy Tyldesley in Coronation Street (is it?)?
- Or was that Johan Lamont?
- Has Cameron signed on yet and how much bedroom tax will he need to offset? Whimper.
The kind of other thoughts likely to pass through my mind could turn to the potential break up of other great unions, such as:
- The TUC – that cheesy little biscuit (crumbs!)
- Could a pair of pants ever become one pant and another pant?
- What happened to change the tone of Sunni and Shia’s “I Got You Babe”?
- Could Rock ever be as much fun without an accompanying Roll?
To soothe my overactive mind I’ll stop off to enjoy some comfort food. Literally.
“Is it to sit-in?” I’ll be asked,
“No, I’m going to eat it” I’ll reply.