TO London, where I’m distressed to hear of yet another squabble between two of our SNP representatives at Westminster. My sources say that the lobby spat between Angus Brendan MacNeill and Brendan O’Hara was at the handbags end of the pugilistic scales.

Mr O’Hara, it seems, has been throwing his weight around recently in his role of party chief whip. The MP for Argyll and Bute is an old acquaintance of this column and has never been known as a belligerent type.

The thought of him acting like the school bully brings to mind one of your pet rabbits trying to keep the last lettuce leaf all to itself.

Yet, this rumble in the tearooms wasn’t actually the most unlikely scenario thrown up by the SNP’s dysfunctional Westminster glee club.

That was provided by Mhairi Black who, in announcing her intention to step away from frontline politics at the next UK election, cited the toxic atmosphere at Westminster as a contributory factor in her decision.

This led to spilt chai lattes among some who have heard reports of her conduct among her own group of MPs. This has previously been described to me as weapons-grade aggression if you dare to raise concerns about women’s sex-based rights with her.

Nevertheless, I wish her all the very best for the future and trust that over the next 18 months or so, she will continue to be good value to the British taxpayer for her 86 grand salary, her weighty expense claims, and a pension arrangement that rests at the oil mogul end of the public superannuation spectrum.

This works out at about a grand – give or take – for every appearance the diligent Ms Black makes in the Chamber, I’m told.

Lording it up

AMID all this rattle and hum, another of the SNP’s Westminster tea party, Tommy Sheppard, weighed in on one of those matters that keep Scottish nationalists awake at night: the presence of Anglican bishops in the House of Lords.

This is an issue which exists at the gossamer end of the niche spectrum. But hey, small acorns and all that.

Mr Sheppard, a comic entrepreneur in his life pre-gravy train, has at least borrowed from his old job in his work at Westminster. And, unlike several of his SNP colleagues, he’s chosen to stick around for another round in the Westminster gin palace.

It’s been suggested that the SNP and the cause of independence may have been damaged by so many of its politicians deciding to step away from the dessert trolley. I disagree.

Their collective contribution to advancing the independence cause would require a decimal point to be dragging a lot of zeros behind it.

Adverts go wild

TO the animal kingdom, where the diurnal struggle to survive could never be compared with the sleepy hollow wherein resides the SNP’s Westminster group. It seems that, in spite of our oft-claimed obsession with our furry and feathered companions, we’re all guilty of casual exploitation of them.

Last week, I encountered several more adverts where animals feature as the main selling point in expensive marketing campaigns.

These included horses running along beaches and that rather eccentric one where what appears to be an elderly Hispanic woman is carrying a donkey on her back to extol the virtues of Super Noodles.

The stalwart hoofed and big-eared mammal, beloved of 1970s beach-lovers, also features in an advert for a well-known dental hygiene product.

Now, being an animal-lover myself, it’s always good to see our wild beasties looking brilliant for the cameras. But if these were humans the advertising industry would be paying hundreds of millions annually for their services.

Some of the most iconic adverts on British television have featured polar bears, horses, eagles, tigers and Labrador puppies. I’d suggest that the animal welfare sector is missing a trick here.

Couldn’t they all band together, seek ownership of animal rights in image reproduction, and secure a hefty emolument towards advocacy of their silent clients bright and beautiful? Just sayin’, ken.

Jack in warnings

BETWEEN all the animal adverts, I managed to seek out an old Netflix series with which I’d long been meaning to catch up.

The adventures of Tom Clancy’s American spy Jack Ryan are now embarking on a fourth series.

 

SHOWBIZ

SHOWBIZ

 

My interest increased on inspecting the trigger warnings that now must come with any drama where there is even the merest hint of jeopardy.

At the beginning of several episodes, I was warned to expect “nudity, violence, substance use, language, sexual content and alcohol”.

On another one they had added “smoking”.

It was all rather alarming and seemed to be preparing us for a Trainspotting sequel featuring Begbie and Satan.

In reality, it was all rather White-American-Boy-Scout-hunts-down-dodgy-Middle-Eastern-chaps-obsessed-with-bombing-Westerners.

I feel sure Russian gangsters and South American drug cartels will soon also come to feel the redemptive breath of Uncle Sam on their sorry necks.