Mr Angry.

The rain that passed over during the night leaves behind overcast skies, still the bike remains steadfast in my living room, today I must go up to Aldi to stock the cupboards, bike ride, later, possibly.

There is much on the news about shortages of gas, leading to higher prices for the consumer and even the demise of some small supply companies. This is hardly news. We have been talking about fuel poverty in Scotland for decades.

Now I was a delegate at the SNP conference, when it was the decision of the conference by 527 votes to 6 (if memory serves) to set up a state-run energy company. Four years on (this Nicola Sturgeon, run excuse for a Scottish government) have shelved the whole idea and “re-focused” (you can pick the bones out of that one) on a new Public Energy Agency.

(Read, phone line to a computer that will tell you to shop around for the best prices.)

Four years ago, at that conference, it was Nicola Sturgeon that joyfully and triumphantly trumpeted the setting up of the new energy company. “Publicly owned, not-for-profit Energy Company” with charges “As close to cost price as possible” by 2021.

Here we are nearing the end of 2021, higher fuel prices, leading to higher rate of fuel poverty amongst our poorest citizens, waiting for Boris to pull a rabbit out of the hat. And what are the excuses from Oor, First Minister (for Scotland)? – The pandemic, the changes in the energy market. Strangely, the last time I looked there was no pandemic four years ago, or even three or two years ago, ‘pants on fire’.

Ironic that the SNP government have spent the last five years, standing up in the Commons, in Holyrood, and on the media, shouting about broken promises to the electorate by a Tory government and how that self same Tory government has been selling Scotland short. Let’s not hear anymore lies from this First Minister, drum her out of office.

Yours sincerely,

Mr Angry.     

It was around 9 o’clock in the evening when I went into the kitchen to make myself some supper. As I stood by the window looking out, the glass was a partial black mirror, a partial widow. The row of tenement buildings across the road from me showed no detail, only a black, flat canvas.  There was light in every large living room window, in every fanlight, over each and every doorway, every smaller bathroom window and skylight, yet no light was allowed to escape into the night. Light, varying in degrees of depth and intensity, remained trapped behind some invisible shield, appearing now only as blocks of coloured light, flat against the black flat background of the painted canvas. For that is how it appeared to me now. How often had I stood here and seen this picture before? A dozen, a score, a hundred times before, yet here I stood seeing it for the very first time.

“Living is easy with eyes closed” sang the Beatles.  

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