For me, it isn’t about whether Scotland is better off independent. The haze on a blue-grey day where mountains meet water will still catch my heart. Heather will still be purple in late summer, and men will still pretend to know more than they do about whisky. And that’s just fine. What fills me with dread are the months… the months of filthy bitter ‘debate’; are you ‘yes’ or are you ‘no’? Families pitted, lips curling. But you’re English… they spit with distain. Then oil revenue, taxes, EU, rules, lies, their money, our money, borders, currency, hope, defence and on…
