Gillian Glover: Alex Salmond’s sales pitch is more than a little wanting

Will ye no come back again? A fond theme for more than displaced Jacobites. First Minister Alex Salmond reminded a mostly Scottish audience on his recent visit to California that they had two years – “plenty of time” – to get themselves back hame if they wanted to partake in Scotland’s referendum. Absentee voting could not be permissible: the decision must be taken by “people in the country who have staked their life’s chances on the country”. That means us, and not Sir Sean of Malaga unless he has re-invested in a wee hielan’ hunting lodge and run the risk of a handshake from the Inland Revenue.

I admired Mr Salmond’s gambling metaphor because never has one been more appropriate since James IV decided Flodden was an attractive place to cross the Border and set up camp. Such a nice hill, and an excellent view of the English. Of course, it wasn’t independence that James IV was seeking in 1513. That is what he was risking. And however often the First Minister flatters us with a litany of our national virtues, 2014 will see us in the Flodden class of the risk business.

There are more than 30 million US residents who claim Scottish or Scots-Irish ancestry, he quotes. Many, like the actor Alan Cumming, will be returning to vote. “An even larger number will return thereafter.” Perhaps they all read his article in the San Francisco Chronicle declaring that, “Scotland is a land of unlimited potential. Our culture, history and reputation for innovation are renowned throughout the world”. Perhaps they internalised this exuberant salesmanship. He does it so well. Genial, affable, entertaining – Mr Salmond is that perfect party guest who will always pat us on the back and tell us we are looking great (fatter? goodness, no… just prosperous). It’s so comforting. – especially when a glance in the mirror reveals a harsher reality. So it’s difficult to be sure whether he really believes there are hordes of emigrants clamouring to return or is he just candy-coating as usual?

There’s a danger either way. The first, and greater, is that we have two more years to listen to the SNP paean of how great we are, and by that time we’ll probably concur. No bad thing, you might think. Self-confidence is the adrenaline of progress. But I hesitate to point out that the only nation I’ve encountered who consistently boast about how much they’ve given the world are the Greeks. You’ll have heard the spiel: democracy, philosophy, mathematics, choruses of frogs and a world monopoly of words ending in -phobia. So substantial do they deem this contribution to civilisation (around 100 per cent), that they’ve scarcely felt the need to lift a spanner in 2,000 years. Narcissism can be exhausting; so we continue to enumerate our special qualities at some peril. Besides, it was never the Scottish way. That’s what we invented Americans for. But even they have toned down the bravado recently. Aaron Sorkin, (writer of The West Wing) wryly observes in his new TV series The Newsroom): “America now leads the world in two things: the highest percentage of incarcerated citizens, and the largest number of adults who believe angels are real.”

A reasonable concern, even for a satirist. Yet here at Project Scottish Daydream, we’re still banging on about how wonderful we are, and how our education, healthcare, care of the elderly and free provision of jam today, is the envy of the world. If only that world included a few more economists.

Yet we should sympathise with the ardour of the faltering millions abroad whom Mr Salmond insists are craving their own nouvelle slice of hill or glen. Perhaps Nirvana and Kirkcaldy really do look alike from a distance, especially when the mirage is constructed at an international level. Hollywood or Holyrood? It doesn’t seem to matter who is to blame when the resulting picture is so intoxicating. This leaves the spoilsports among us with a nagging sense of responsibility. If there are throngs of expats plotting a return to our windswept shores, it seems only fair to allow them a glimpse of midweek mince-and-tatties reality.

Of course, it would help if we knew how long they’ve been away. Are we talking Highland Clearances or an aversion to Mrs Thatcher? Maybe it was Denis Healey’s pledge to “squeeze the rich till the pips squeak” which sent them scuttling off to Florida or the Costa Brava. We have to hope they made some money there. The Daily Mail’s headlines simply couldn’t cope with any more scroungers siphoning our milk of human kindness to the bottom of the bucket. Before that happens, here are some pointers to the biggest gaps between fairytale Scotland and the one they are likely to encounter.

Thrift. Mythic national characteristic number one. Now reserved for grandparents’ stories and advertisements for English banks, where a young woman with a Scottish accent is believed to contribute a compelling aura of prudent perspicacity. In real life she will have five maxed out credit cards and a drawerful of IOUs to her Mum.

Christianity. Made the journey from Ireland intact, but some time around the mid-1980s, paused, shrugged and decided that carpet warehouses were the way forward. Those seeking the austere Presbyterian sabbath of yesteryear should take a ferry to the islands (on a Saturday of course) Elsewhere, pagan Sunday with rabid shopping and a pub lunch rules.

Hen Nights. The newest apotheosis of Scotland’s love affair with alcohol, (The Ladies’ Temperance League was officially disbanded in the 1990s) Encounter any of the countless gangs of marauding young womanhood as they crash along Rose Street and you’ll know the taste of fear.

Dour Reserve. Traded in for a full measure of Italian hysteria on the occasion of Princess Diana’s death.

The working class. The new smart-phone format for Scotland is one class only. Everyone is middle class, except the people who say they are classless. They are always upper class. So there you have it. Here’s tae us. Wha’s like us? Gie few, but Mr Salmond knows each and everyone.