There is life after Downing Street, and it’s good.
Although I do miss Larry the Cat, Chief Mouser of No10. I don’t think he’s missed me though. He’s been too busy sorting out border disputes with his feline neighbours.
But over the last 10 weeks I have rediscovered the joy of being released from the ever blinking red eye of the government blackberry.
I have had time to read newspapers for pleasure. I even took a couple of days off to watch Scotland play cricket. And yes, it rained.
I’ve been to Conservative conference where I didn’t have to explain, defend or promote the “line to take” but instead had time to meet old friends.
Best of all I didn’t have to stay up until the wee small hours taking part in “tired and emotional” conversations few would remember the next day. Nor wish to.
In Birmingham the talk, needless to say, was much about Brexit.
There was a plethora of experts on show each with their own take on how things would pan out.
A veritable Confusion of Brexperts.
But one thing did appear from the mist of uncertainty – there are opportunities as well as threats for our great iconic industries such as oil and gas, whisky and fishing. Three giants woven into the very fabric of life in the north-east.
Indeed, one of the pleasures of my Life after Larry is to work alongside the Scottish fishing industry to help secure the best outcome for the thousands whose livelihoods are linked to the bounty of the sea. Larry would approve. He likes fish.
As the Scottish Fishermen’s Federation has dubbed it, there is a Sea of Opportunity ahead. Brexit means that the primary control of much of Europe’s finest fishing grounds returns to us.
For the UK Government, this is a chance to show the upside of Brexit. For the Scottish Government, a chance to demonstrate that it can work in partnership.
For the industry, this is the time to lead and to influence, to speak for the sector and find common ground with others. The fish supper is coming home.
The threat to success comes from fish being unreasonably dumped into wider Brexit deals or caught in the net of constitutional bickering here in the UK. Both can, should and must be avoided.
We don’t need surf and turf wars.
We do need a calm appraisal of the facts. An appreciation of the prize on offer. A recognition that, however we voted, Brexit is going to happen and we can either shape it, or ship out.
Right now, all around the coast of Scotland, people are trawling, dredging and landing one of nature’s greatest bounties.
Thousands more are gutting, packing and processing this feast from the sea. And millions of us eat it every week. We owe it to all of them to get this right.
Then we can all be as happy as Larry.
To those of you who have a life and don’t get embroiled in the bubble politics of Twitter, a cautionary tale about how a lie can get halfway around the world before the truth has even woken up.
For months now there has been a persistent attempt on social media to rubbish official government figures on Scotland’s profit and loss account.
The inconvenient truth for those with tartan tinted spectacles is that they show that Scotland is spending more than we are earning.
Not only that, our fiscal position is worse than that of the rest of the UK There is a net transfer of money north to Scotland.
Now it is bad enough that the data is produced by the SNP Scottish Government. That fact is skated over by the nationalists hell bent on their own version of The Truth.
Excuses have to be found. New facts have to be invented.
And thus was born the great whisky wheeze. It goes like this:
Scotland makes lots of the stuff. It’s very popular around the world.
It’s worth billions of pounds.
It’s exported via English ports.
The export duty is then given to England, not Scotland.
A Westminster con, they cry. It’s Scotland’s whisky.
And you’d be tempted to agree and paint your face blue in protest.
Except for one small fact – there is no such thing as export duty.
It doesn’t exist. It’s an invention. HMRC say so. The EC says so. The Scotch Whisky Association says so. Even the Scottish Government agrees.
Scotch myth, scotched.
I was on Jersey on Saturday to watch London Scottish play the Jersey Reds. It’s a stunning island and one where every patch of ground has a story to tell and a view to behold.
As I mulled over who to support – my English team or my rugby hosts – it was another sporting tale which caught my attention.
It involved a couple of humdrum, everyday tattie fields.
They had the rather mundane names of Field 722 and Field 724 on the rather more elegantly named Rue de la Vignette.
This particular vignette epitomises all that is good about rural life. Where the true worth of something is more than its mere monetary value.
And the hero of our tale is a farmer, Jimmy Perchard.
Jimmy is a cricket nut. He’s bowled over by the game. He wasn’t going to let an opportunity to show it slip.
So he built his own cricket pitch. His very own field of dreams.
And not just any old wicket. One that meets ICC standards and is now the most used on the island. An idyll where the sound of the tractor has been replaced by leather on willow.
Which begs two questions. What would you turn tattie fields into? And how many bad puns did I miss? Letters to the editor, please.
