Hey there, online stalkers! Fancy a sneaky glimpse into the seasonal activities of the “so-called” great and good? They don’t just disappear because we stop giving a tinker’s cuss about them for 24 hours, you know.
So, with thanks to Mr Capaldi for the loan of his Tardis, let’s zip across the timeline and see what everybody’s planning to get up to once they’ve finished unwrapping Santa’s goodies…
Alistair Carmichael MP (oh, how that appellation grates) will take delivery of 365 pairs of flame-retardant underpants, which should last him a whole year as long as he only speaks once a day. Needless to say, he’ll add the cost to his legal fees claim, itemised as “briefs”.
Kezia Dugdale will spend the day gazing at the Forth Road Bridge, wearing her disappointed face.
Derek McKay MSP, the SNP’s Mr Fixit, will travel throughout the land on Cloud Nine, mending potholes, fixing faulty boilers, replacing slates on storm-damaged roofs and, most importantly, arranging some bloody interview training for his SNP colleagues.
Gary Robertson, whose pre-Christmas Good Morning Scotland conversation with Derek is destined to be an online classic, will spend the day spitting rivets. In an ironic twist, the folk working on the Forth Road Bridge will find these extremely helpful. Merry Christmas, Gary!
David Torrance will publish a new unauthorised biographical work, Derek McKay: My Part In His Downfall, written in the space of 20 minutes and based on Wikipedia, a couple of random Tweets and the advice of a gypsy crone. The Waterstones price of “we’ll give you 50p to take the damn thing away” will ensure a few sales, albeit mostly in households where one table leg is shorter than the other three.
Donald Trump will launch his personal brand of eau de cologne, Trump Mist, produced by bottling his farts. He’ll then order a drone strike on Trumpton for image rights theft and disassociate himself from Nellie the Elephant on the grounds that she’s a “stoopid broad”. Finally, as his approval ratings soar higher than Jackie Bird’s left eyebrow, he’ll hurl insults at the crew of the International Space Station because he’s run out of targets on Earth.
John Swinney will find a 5p piece in his Christmas pudding and miraculously use it to dual the A9, put fairy lights on the Queensferry Crossing and get started on an oil fund.
Jackie Baillie will swallow the 5p and claim that by not spending it on any of the Swinney items she somehow has 10p, which can be used to offset George Osborne’s non-existent tax credit clawbacks, end world hunger, fund a mission to Mars and still leave enough to buy five magic beans.
Willie Rennie will call for an enquiry after he breaks his tooth on the 5p in his Christmas pudding, his greetin’ face turns all the satsumas sour and the joke in his cracker turns out to be a final demand for £800,000 from Police Scotland.
Tricia Marwick, Holyrood’s Presiding Officer, will delightedly unwrap a brand new light-sabre sent by the makers of Star Wars, who have witnessed her numpty-skewering powers with awe and want to offer her a part in the next movie as a galactic referee.
James Kelly MSP will consolidate his reputation as the worst player of Musical Chairs in the history of the human race. His excuse of being unable to sit down because he can’t find his arse with both hands will, as usual, fail to impress the panel of 6-year-old judges.
David Cameron’s present of a boar’s head sporran will be the talk of Chipping Norton.
Eleanor Bradford, BBC Scotland’s medical misery correspondent, will discreetly insert a shedload of laxatives into Christmas dinner at Glasgow’s Super-Duper-Hospital.
Jeremy Corbyn will ruin the whole occasion no matter what he does. If he doesn’t issue a festive message he’ll be cancelling Christmas, and if he does he’ll be behaving like flaming Royalty. If he puts on a Santa outfit he’ll be brazenly wearing the Red Flag and offering something for nothing, and if he doesn’t he’ll be a humourless wonk who enjoys crushing little children’s dreams. If he protests to IPSO he’ll be a gutless coward, and if they find in his favour the Sun will print a retraction so tiny that bacteria can trample it underfoot.
Blairite conspirators in the Parliamentary Labour Party will exchange anti-Corbyn messages hidden in mince pies and look forward to the day when they can knife Jeremy in the front, back, side and soles of his feet, before relaunching Labour as the acronym Tony always intended it to be: Loosely Assembled Bunch Of Unprincipled Ratbags.
Iain Duncan Smith will feel an eerie chill gnawing at the fabric of his being. But don’t worry, he’ll just throw another benefits claimant on the fire.
Iain Gray MSP will gaze at the array of dog biscuits on the shelves of his local Morrison’s, wondering if they do them in Golden Retriever flavour.
Alex Salmond, bored with simply walking across Strichen Lake, will turn it into wine and serve it to his Christmas Day guests. The Herald, egged on by the Scotch Whisky Association, will concoct a slavering SNPBad headline accusing him of breaching European free trade regulations.
Lawson Carjack MSP, the Scottish Tories’ answer to Anton du Beke, will promote the lost art of dancing by inviting Ruth Davidson to join him in a seasonal military two-step. Unfortunately, in a fit of over-enthusiasm about the “military” part, she’ll turn up in a tank and accidentally flatten him. He’ll be rushed to Glasgow’s Super-Duper Hospital, where the “Bradford special” Christmas dinner will give him a massive case of diahorrea. This, despite his injuries, will keep him dancing all night long.
Nicola Sturgeon will spend the day kicking ass. Hey, it’s what she does – why should Christmas be any different?