Richard Godwin: The Scots aren’t going to fall for the ‘lovebomb’

If I were a Scottish man — and, despite a fondness for Islay malts, certain Belle and Sebastian chord changes and the municipal architecture of Glasgow, I am not. But if I were, and I had always thought I would vote “no” to independence come the autumn, I would probably be changing my mind. This time, the English have gone too far.

At first they appeared wilfully complacent about the whole idea of an independent Scotland. “There’s a referendum? Well, down here there’s a NEW BURGER TREND!” It was frustrating but at least consistent with the national policy of self-absorption.

Then, as the “yes” campaign gathered momentum and the Mel Gibson version of history began to take hold, a few of them became angry. George Osborne issued threats. “But you can’t take our currency/oil/grouse moors/Wimbledon champion, you idiots!” Again, this was to be expected. The English are prone to these spasms.

Now, according to the five-stage mourning process (denial… anger…), they are doing something that psychologists call “bargaining”. It’s the bit where a pod of F-list celebrities tries to “lovebomb” you, a weirdly aggressive form of affection. In future sovereignty debates, it will be known as the “Trinny and Susannah Phase”.

The professional whoevers appear alongside June Sarpong, Ross Kemp and a few other randoms in a video called Let’s Stay Together. They try to patronise Scots into voting “no”, just as they once patronised women into dressing more like Sloanes. Their main argument is that we would win fewer medals at the Olympics without Scotland.

“Trinny is half-Scottish and Susannah is a quarter-Scottish, and we both visit the country a great deal,” they add in an open letter. “Please stay with us — we love you so much!” By which point, as I say, if I were an imaginary Scottish man, in an imaginary glen/oil rig/council estate, I would probably say: “OK England, you can £%@# off now.”

As a real-life Englishman, I’d be sad if Scotland and England consciously uncoupled. Not because it would mean fewer golds for Team GB but because us humans are generally at our best when we emphasise what we have in common rather than what divides us. Watching the news now, I’m not wild about the idea of more borders.

It’s up to the Scots. It’s their country and they should run it as they see fit. Whether a bunch of English people like it, love it or covet it isn’t the issue.

My suspicion is that England isn’t so much resentful of Scotland as jealous. We’d declare independence from Trinny and Susannah if we could. Failing that, perhaps they might like to take their diplomacy skills elsewhere. The Donbass? The Gaza Strip? Worth a try.

Now that the trial of Tulisa Contostavlos has collapsed, the methods of the Sun on Sunday’s Fake Sheikh, Mazher Mahmood, have come under scrutiny. But what about his motives — or rather, that of the paper? Was it merely spite that inspired all that subterfuge?

The whole sorry affair has been depicted as a sign of the press’s power. Really, it is a sign of its weakness. A reporter of Mahmood’s calibre should be exposing corrupt arms-dealers and bent financiers, cocaine Conservatives and dodgy officials, society sex offenders and evil tycoons. Instead, he went for a self-made, working-class female pop star.

It’s a little pathetic. And if nothing else, it shows you where the power lies.

In theory, the Tube should improve in July, as regular commuters take their annual leave and free up valuable seating. But theory only gets you so far when you’re contemplating the braised neck-folds of a Midwesterner at Covent Garden.

It’s worst, I find, on the Piccadilly line. The trains begin their journey at Heathrow, already full of suitcases, then pass through all the dimmer touristic hot-spots, from the hostels of Earl’s Court to Harrods, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Theatreland, M&Ms World and the Eurostar terminal.

Normally the doughty workhorse of the Underground, in summer it becomes the Idiot Line, full of pushing and panting and panicking, getting-on-before-people-get-off and not-moving-down-the-carriage. The loss of its regular passengers means there is no one to uphold the rules, either. The sensible alter their commute accordingly.

Carlos Slim has a point. The Mexican telecoms billionaire has suggested that instead of working for five days and resting for two, we work four longer days (say, 11-12 hours) and rest for three. Why allow the moon to dictate? Let’s have a bank holiday every weekend!

Of course, as one of the richest plutocrats ever to have lived, he is not thinking purely about the welfare of his workforce (and it’s worth noting that Mexicans put in the most hours out of any nation on Earth).

He notes that it would simply be more efficient that way: less commuting; less waste; fewer childcare headaches; and ultimately, more time to spend spending money. London should be a pioneer.

Twitter: @richardjgodwin