All is transient, nothing lasts forever. I’ve been visiting the National Library of Scotland after work to make some much needed progress on an imminently due university dissertation. Wandering alone through [...]]]> “Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite”

All is transient, nothing lasts forever. I’ve been visiting the National Library of Scotland after work to make some much needed progress on an imminently due university dissertation. Wandering alone through the dusky city after spending untold woozy hours amongst the accumulation of centuries’ worth of knowledge has made me somewhat reflective. Gazing up at the sky, I contemplate my place within the world. Autumn brings constant reminders of ageing. There is a nagging chill in the air, the leaves are falling, and the groups of school pupils who file into Parliament, keen to scribble down notes for their Advanced Higher Modern Studies coursework, have returned. All in all, at the age of 19, I feel an existential angst brought on by realisation of the inevitable passage of time. In that sense, maybe going into the Scottish Parliament on a daily basis is comforting. The building is a striking testimony to the eternal creative power of mankind, as well as a potent symbol of our ancient nation. Viewing politicians at work assures us of the essentially benign nature of the political system. Seasons may come and go, but every day men and women true are fighting to improve our lives. Moreover, as I track the Public Services Reform (Scotland) Bill through its introduction, its consideration at Stage 1 by four committees, 55 expert written submissions and months of oral testimony, Stage 2, Stage 3 and beyond, perhaps some things really do last forever…

Believe it or not, attending First Ministers Questions was probably not the most outlandish thing I had done all summer. In fact, I had herded and milked cows. I [...]]]> “Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.”

Believe it or not, attending First Ministers Questions was probably not the most outlandish thing I had done all summer. In fact, I had herded and milked cows. I had peddled a Rickshaw through Hanoi city centre. I had ridden an elephant. It was all part of an ‘adventure-travel’ show, based on the US programme “The Amazing Race.” I had raced around the world, crossing continents and 6 different countries, and now I could finally have a quiet sit-down in an office in the Canongate. This was not entirely the case. First of all, I was not viewed with as much admiration and awe in the office as my nascent celebrity ego would have liked. Everyone here had studied, visited or worked in the countries I had raced through. My efforts to finally appear worldly, sophisticated and well-travelled had been in vain. Similarly, life at Morhamburn was far from sedate. ‘Racing’ is at heart not particularly complex. You just ‘race’ as fast as you can, hopefully faster than the other competitors. Here, the goals were changing constantly, day after day. Instead of just getting my head down and running, I had to be aware of Parliamentary business, changes in clients’ needs, regional, national and international news stories. If the pace of life while on the show had been fast, it was ultimately all artificial. Moreover, which ever way you look at it, it was for essentially frivolous means. The matters I was dealing with in the office or in Parliament actually meant something to millions of real people. There was no second take. There was no camera that could be switched off to halt the flow of political life. There was no elephant to get me down to parliament on a wet Thursday morning. It seemed that the race was just beginning…

Of course, it is all very well being inspired by something, [...]]]> “Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific — and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien”

Of course, it is all very well being inspired by something, and indeed signing about it. Any one can rhapsodise over an exquisite piece of classical pottery, a stunning sunset catching flowers in bloom, the sound of an MPs voice. However, the real challenge facing the serious political observer is dragging out what is important and relevant amidst the decoration. I realised this on attending my first Committee meeting. The Scottish Water board were taking questions on their annual report from the Transport, Infrastructure and Climate Change Committee. It was easy enough to take reams of notes, replete with facts and figures. But what was important? Who were these faceless people in sits, sat round an improbably large and shiny table? Why were they served coffee and not I? It was then that it struck me that Keats would more than likely have been awful in public affairs. He would have spent too long “wand’ring thoughtlessly” around Parliament, thus turning up late to meetings, or indeed “fainting with surprise” at revelations on proposed water meter calibration technology. However, he also had an admiration for the small, underappreciated things in life. Political grandstanding was all very well, but it was meetings like these that truly affected the nation’s future. This finer appreciation for detail spurred me on. I had newfound respect for the financial ramifications of the Flood Risk Management Bill…

10 years on from devolution political journalists and picture editors scramble to assemble to the right mix of sensationalist clichés iconic images and wild speculation to commemorate this ‘historic event,’ before clocking off for the [...]]]> The birth of a nation, a First Minister resigning, “a Taxi for MacLetchie,” financial ignominy, collapsing roofs, “fire-raising peers,” electoral fiasco…independence?

10 years on from devolution political journalists and picture editors scramble to assemble to the right mix of sensationalist clichés iconic images and wild speculation to commemorate this ‘historic event,’ before clocking off for the weekend. The past decade at the Scottish Parliament has certainly kept us entertained, and producing a glossy pull-out or two to mark the occasion will not be too difficult.

But apart from our continual amusement and fascination, what has actually been achieved by this institution? It could be argued that the scrapping of up-front tuition fees, free personal care for the elderly and the cutting of prescription charges have all brought significant material benefits to the weakest in society.

Above all, however, they mark out Scotland as politically distinct from the UK. This should not be viewed as a mere nationalist rallying cry. Instead, such legislation fits in to a broader form of innovative politics that all parties within Holyrood have worked hard to develop. It was initially derided as parochial and insignificant; a politician’s graveyard populated with jumped-up ‘cooncil’ men. However, the Parliament’s greatest achievement has been in changing its public perception. Through coalition government and first-past-the-post it has worked hard to gain respect throughout the U.K. This change in political culture has been to its credit.

Although Holyrood can sometimes remain a place of high farce, it can also claim to be held up by London broadsheets as an example of the ‘new politics,’ a breath of fresh air compared to the corrupt backstabbing of a Westminster crippled by greedy politicians.

Amidst claims of nationwide political apathy and allegations of an uncertain constitutional future, the Parliament’s fight to prove itself as an exciting, progressive and worthy  place to be must be viewed as its biggest success.

Scottish politics. As seductive, ephemeral and mesmeric as this magical scene described by Keats. It follows its own hypnotic rhythm that is often difficult to follow. Even 24 hour news, BBC Parliament and the rafts [...]]]> “What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to Escape?
What pipes and timbrel? What wild ecstasy?”

Scottish politics. As seductive, ephemeral and mesmeric as this magical scene described by Keats. It follows its own hypnotic rhythm that is often difficult to follow. Even 24 hour news, BBC Parliament and the rafts of devoted political journalists can sometimes fail to keep up with the constantly changing situation. Therefore, attending my first ever First Minister’s Questions was a daunting prospect.

How would I know who was who? How would I understand the complex matters being alluded to, and the hilarious political in-jokes? Proceedings were indeed fast-paced. Already I had gotten soaked and dishevelled rushing on my way to Parliament, as well as lost within its shiny, hyperreal corridors. Questions on bills I had never heard of were asked. There was uproarious laughter at things that left me stony-faced. Nevertheless, once in the viewing gallery I forgot my flustered complexion and dripping clothes. Being there in person meant that the whole political process seemed more real. It made it easier to follow. The tone and atmosphere that newspaper articles cannot fully convey were suddenly palpable. I am far from synaesthetic, but seeing the Parliament’s characters up close brought vivid colour to my sketchy understanding of the Scottish political scene. I regrettably did not get every detail noted down but, to me at least, this did not seem to matter too much. It was my first taste of real politics and I was hooked.

“I see and sing by my own eyes inspired…”