Even Scotland's political dramas are embarrassingly piddling

Nevertheless, this also needs to be said. None of us should downplay how much damage has been done to Scotland’s character by the police investigation into the SNP’s finances. It may all come to nothing but it's the sheer, eye-watering detail of the inquiry which threatens to undermine our hard-won reputation as a modern, grown-up nation at the cutting edge of chi-chi sophistication. Let no one be in any doubt: it will take all of us a very long time to recover from this.

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Scotland has never previously been granted the opportunity to compete in the Champions League of shoogly accounting. And now, when the chance comes along we’ve absolutely blown it. I can only imagine the ripples of disdainful laughter breaking over the world’s top dens of iniquity as what has become known as ‘Le Grand Circus d’Ecosse’ has unfolded.

What’s most embarrassing about the SNP imbroglio is its unforgivably mediocre aspect. In other, properly urbane jurisdictions the paraphernalia of political scandals includes Lamborghinis, pool-side bunga-bunga parties; industrial quantums of electric smarties and fast women wearing Eau de Printemps by that Elon Musk.

In modern, enlightened, progressive Scotland what do we get: a souped-up caravanette (sleeping two); some items of cookware with a French-sounding name; a stash of suspect office supplies (classification unknown) and a fridge. The fancy cookware will probably turn out to be a reserved matter In those circles experienced in the conduct of boutique tomfoolery all the transactions occur in chic principalities like San Tropez, Tokyo and Tel Aviv. In Scotland, it’s the driveway of an unsuspecting OAP in Dunfermline and a back garden in Baillieston.

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This is an imbroglio devoid whatsoever of any style or class and it’s fast becoming a national disgrace. Any inquiry following from this episode should include the appalling lack of taste and discrimination.

In authentically sinful cities they embrace the wise principal of being hung for a sheep as for a lamb. In Scotland, it seems, not only will we always choose the lamb but we’ll probably be looking for a bulk discount on it.

Police at the Murrell-Sturgeon home (Image: free)

I’d never cast aspersions on the integrity of our hard working, over-stretched law enforcement community, but they must have known that the eyes of the world would be focused on that big tent in Nicola Sturgeon’s garden.

Planting evidence is alien to these men and woman of unimpeachable rectitude, but could they not, you know, have imbued the proceedings with a measure of elan?

Maybe a wee flash of the Agent Provocateurs or a snatch of gold jewellery. A pair of strappy Louboutins, perchance? These could easily have been discarded later on in the proceedings, but at least it might have piqued the interest of the Washington Post picture editor and enhanced our reputation in all the big places.

There’s a reason why film directors choose places like Prague, Istanbul and Miami to convey the sense of fast-paced, international, political thrillers. It’s because fast-moving, high-stakes malarkey actually does occur in these places.

Scotland is trying to sell itself as a destination for the elite global film and television industry, but a down-at-heel tale of rogue camper vans and refrigerators of questionable provenance simply won’t cut it.

There was no swagger. This was no Hollywood production. Rather, the accoutrements of this couthy and homespun political drama are what you might expect to see in Detectorists. This was strictly Specs, Dugs and Sausage Rolls.

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I’m sure I speak for us all in hoping that nothing untoward turns up following Police Scotland’s investigation into these matters. Even so, you’re still hoping that some of our television script-writers are keeping an eye on proceedings with a view to penning an edgy drama starring the likes of Peter Mullan, Brian Cox and Laura Fraser. And that there will be something for them to get their teeth stuck into.

At this rate, though, they’ll need to introduce a couple of Russian mafia types into the proceedings. And I’d also be tempted to take the story in an entirely different direction. Maybe something about the 'missing £670,000' having been invested with an Irish horse-racing syndicate for the purpose of making millions in stud fees that would fund a rock 'n' roll referendum campaign.

I don’t think many of those who donated money for the referendum fighting fund would have been upset to find that their cash had been spent in this way.

I think if we are to entertain any notions of being considered a sophisticated independent European nation we need to think seriously about upping our game with this sort of thing. I would propose setting up an all-party group to study best practice in political scandals. Its remit would be to visit the traditional European capitals of civic iniquity and report back toot sweet.

It should be assumed that, at some point along the course of a political term, someone is going to get found out participating in something they ought not to be. Our party political managers spend millions of pounds of our money seeking to spin bad news into good and applying lipstick to ordure. Perhaps they should instead be seeking to apply the ‘lamb for a sheep’ principal.

In recent years Scotland has made massive strides in shaking off its traditional image of a tight-fisted, wee land with bad dietary choices. I fear though, that this entire episode has set us back by a generation or so. Look at the English Tories. There were accusations of fridges being used for nefarious purposes during their lockdown bacchanals. But at least theirs were filled with bottles of half-decent champagne.

In 1970, the great Scottish writer and philosopher Tom Nairn wrote: “Scotland will be reborn the day the last minister is strangled with the last copy of the Sunday Post.”

Well, the ministers and the Sunday Post are still here more than 50 years later. And it seems they’ve been joined by a political elite who conduct their business with pots and pans and fridges in camper vans.