Interrogated by my friends in the south over independence

A trip to London was met with endless independence discussions.

My annual trip to London for the International Live Music Conference started the way it always has for the past 15 years in a mad sweaty rush!

No matter what time I leave, when I pack my bags, how many hours I give myself to get to the airport I always end up looking like a crumpled heap of dirty washing.

Thankfully when I arrived at the hotel the staff greeted me like a long lost relative, asking me if my drinks order would be as extensive as last year’s.

This was quite disconcerting because hotels are usually glad to see the back of me.

I was just starting to relax when the Polish concierge asked me a couple of questions that totally threw me. Questions that seemed so out place, here in the centre of a scorching London, that I was too stunned to answer and could only manage a loud grunt in reply.

He wondered if I’d be voting Yes or No in the referendum and, if Scotland did opt for independence, would I still come to London?

The Yes or No question had already been asked by my Cockney cabbie, Alfie, on the run in from the airport, but I expected that from him after all he was a taxi driver and a loud one at that but not from a trussed up hotel concierge.

I thought they were only there to supply me with groceries and to bamboozle when I tipped them Scottish fivers! Not to rattle me with questions about Scotland and independence!

It didn’t end there. In fact the whole weekend followed a similar pattern.

Whether I was in a seminar, having lunch with other delegates, at dinner with agents, watching a gig or slouching over the bar with friends, after about 15 minutes of music biz talk and being the big hairy Scot in the room someone would invariably throw the dreaded ‘R’ word into the mix and the whole debate about the Scottish referendum would kick off.

The questioning got so ludicrous, maddening and repetitive that I started answering: “Yes, I do think that if both sides can agree on a reasonable time frame and there is no threat of armed intimidation then there should be a referendum…and if the people of Crimea decide to break away then so be it!”

That worked until I met a Russian promoter at the bar. I was offski!

It was as if a massive alarm clock had suddenly bonged and brutally awoken everyone up to the fact that Scotland may no longer be part of the UK after September. For a few, mostly ex pats, this was a thought too awful to contemplate. Here the defence of the union was as passionate as it was vitriolic.

The majority, however, were happy to hear what I had to say.

They were inquisitive, intrigued but also very ignorant about Scottish politics. They weren’t really interested in how I would cast my vote they had already figured that out.

Nor were they concerned about sharing Sterling, oil and the armed forces they were eager to understand why Scotland was having a referendum in the first place. Why we felt it necessary when we had our own parliament?

I wasn’t so much defending how I’ll cast my vote but defending the rights of Scottish people to have a vote at all, and they were staggered to hear how engaged the electorate had become with both sides of the debate.

It was truly bizarre but I’m glad to say that once I had explained myself and given them a slight lesson in modern Scottish history they became quite supportive, if not jealous, of the fact that Scotland actually has a choice over the way it’s governed, and by whom.

Many, especially those from the north of England, expressed envy that this choice could result in Scotland never having to endure a Tory government again and wished for the same. Some lamented the fact that Labour without their Scottish block of MPs might never get back in power again.

All agreed though that if they were given a similar chance they would take it in a heartbeat.

They also all agreed that politics in the UK after September, regardless of the outcome, would never ever be the same again and there was broad agreement that I should be allowed to visit them again next year.

Well, as long as my documentation was in order and I didn’t sing 500 Miles again at the karaoke!