An eerie silence falls over the valleys. Somewhere up there on the high ground, the mist lifts to reveal the front-line troops of the two armies, now reduced to unaccustomed silence as they await their orders.

The heavy guns are now muzzled, the ammunition neatly stacked alongside them. The swords and the claymores still threaten but remain sheathed. The snipers sit now and clean their weapons patiently. The strategists prepare for the worst – and for the best. This is a grudge match, and it won’t be over quickly.

A sudden glint of something bright. Could that be Gordon Brown’s wonky eye, or Nicola Sturgeon’s razor-edged teeth?


Far away to the south, a wild bellow that sets the heart fluttering. Boris Johnson, probably. It won’t be Mr Cameron, who will sensibly keep well out of the way, the auld couart.

As the sun finally rises, the order goes out. And slowly, from the depths of the valley, five million people rise silently out of the mist and stand in line to declare their allegiance…..

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