London felt different.

I had, essentially, kicked off my campaign on College Green (outside Westminster Palace) in March 2019. There were vivid signs of the raging open wound that the 2016 referendum had inflicted on us. It was a nation divided, there was fighting on the streets, it was Paris 1968 all over again [Calm down son, it wasn’t that bad. Ed].

Well, there was some gentle, very British, protesting and a lot of flags. We took pictures, chatted with protesters, sought reassurance from the police officers that were maintaining a watchful brief..

After London 2019 I set off for Brussels and my first trip to EU galactic HQ. You will remember how hilarious it all was – no! well, go back to the beginning and start reading this Blog again. From the start.

We were staying in the same hotel (somewhere in Islington) and quickly learned how different the world was. The establishment didn’t even have draft beer anymore, or proper bar staff (last time they were excellent). Either three years of Brexit had done for it, or the effects of the pandemic had eviscerated the once glorious Kings Cross Crowne Plaza. I was so concerned that (on my return north) I responded to a request for feedback with a rather direct input – I hope they will benefit from my advice.

One thing that is noticeable everywhere these days is the tendency away from cash. It is more to do with new technology (as our digital world accelerates towards bot-topia), and a reluctance to touch dirty cash, than it is to do with  Brexit. However, it is a relief not to have that annoying conversation with London cabbies:

What’s this gov! The cabbie intones in his best Dick van Dyke.

 Erm, cash …, I reply, patiently.

Is The Bank of Scotland a thing then. Do you Jocks have your own money now? he asks, amusingly.

No, it is Pounds Sterling. Just like The Bank of England, I offer, playing my part in this age old ritual.

This one says The Clydesdale Bank, where’s that! he exclaims.

Scottish bank, established 1838, I continue, still pounds Stirling I think you’ll find.

 So, he asks, what exchange rate will I get for this, don’t you have any real pounds. I don’t think I can take this stuff.

 Would Monopoly money suit you better, I mumble under my breath, we are near Park Lane after all.

 

Well, you get the picture. A familiar exchange for Scottish visitors to our great UK capitol over the years. I’m going to miss this, in a weird sort of way.

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