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The Sketch: When the hand of history should be used for a clip round the ear

THE hand of history massaged the jolly Green shoulders of Patrick Harvie yesterday, as the innocuous-looking little fellow scuppered the Nats' Budget. When I say "history", of course, I don't mean anything that anyone will remember. And when I say "Budget", I don't mean a proper thing with a leather briefcase, whisky and implications for VAT and the price of your pint. For, as Margo MacDonald (Ind) rightly pointed out, the Scottish "Budget" is just dis

But, in the small scheme of things, passions ran high in Holyrood yesterday as party representatives scuttled to and fro, trying to do last-minute deals. Patrick expressed himself furious at all this jiggery-pokery, even as he was being dragged from the chamber by Eck Salmond to have his ear bent one last time.

But Patrick's ear was not for bending. "Some of us are not playing last-minute political games," he frothed.

John Swinney, the finance secretary, tried placating him with funding for an insulation project. As a sop to the Tories, he also announced a town centre regeneration initiative. While Patrick got into a paddy, the Tories were chuffed enough and backed the SNP. This prompted Michael MacMahon (Lab) to refer to Tory finance spokesman Derek Brownlee as "Mini-Swinney", while Jeremy Purvis (Lib Dem) went so far as accusing him of making the finance secretary a cup of coffee. A serious allegation.

Hangdog Hugh Henry (Lab), rose like a micturating fountain to froth about needing more information. For example, quoth he, what did Eck say to Patrick when he summoned him from the chamber? Said Hugh: "What we now have is the reintroduction of pork-barrel politics of the worst kind."

I know Eck's no Twiggy, but this was getting personal.

Hughie said it was a matter of printed record that he'd always supported town centre regeneration: "Even Derek Brownlee and the Tories would be able to read the joined-up writing." Hang on, if it's a matter of record, it would surely be printed. What joined-up writing of record was Hangdog Hughie referring to? His diary ("Today, I had beans for tea, and supported town centre regeneration.")?

Next minute, a security guard's wig blew off, a pigeon was hurtled backwards and a door started slamming on its hinges. Yes, James "Foghorn" Kelly (Lab) had begun to holler. His constituency boasted the fourth-lowest number of GPs in the country, he roared, and yet its citizenry had many illnesses – not least tinnitus, I suspect, if he's blundering aboot the place sounding forth.

David McLetchie (Con) held forth about Scotland being "an integral part of the United Kingdom" – don't remind us – and, accordingly, all major financial decisions were made by "Her Majesty's Government", and not by His Eckiness's Government in Scotia. His main gripe was with Labour: with its cherished trade union heritage, how could it scupper a budget with the risk to public-sector pay and jobs?

Politically, I was all at sea: unionist ultras, the Tories, backing the SNP and the public sector? Whatever next? It was getting difficult to tell who was who.

Liam McArthur (Lib Dem) said the Tories had proved themselves a "cheap date for ministers". Alex Neil (SNP) talked of Labour and their "Liberal poodles", prompting Mike Rumbles (Lib Dem) to get up on his hind legs and howl, which Alex took gracefully with the words: "I will let you bark because there will be no bite." Miaow!

Patrick, meanwhile, had reappeared, apologising to the presiding orifice for nipping oot. Hangdog Hughie demanded again to know what was said. But Patrick said it was not his practice to relay gossip. Instead, he announced that, unless John came up with more dosh for insulation by 5 o'clock, he wasn't backing the Budget.

Accordingly, at 5pm, he (and his mate) gave it a big "niet", and the vote was tied at 64-64. The presiding orifice, Alex Hercules O'Blenkinsop Fergusson, said he had to use his casting vote to back the status quo, so Swinney's Budget went doon the Suwanee. He said he'd be back with another in a couple of days. Then who knows what the hand of history will do to Patrick? Poke him in the eye, I shouldn't wonder.


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