Finest weapons at their command? Those pins!
Legend – or rather Hollywood – has it that the Scottish knight William Wallace daubed himself head-to-toe in blue woad paint to defeat the english army at the Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297.
Centuries later, nicola Sturgeon has gone one step further, arriving to greet her Southern nemesis Theresa May apparently dressed as the Scottish Saltire.
Intentional or otherwise, the First Minister’s natty blue suit with white piping and matching light-coloured stilettos were unmistakably reminiscent of the Scottish flag, a subliminal if not entirely subtle indication of her feelings towards Westminster. May, for her part, was stateswomanlike in a stylish navy jacket, a patterned dress and her trademark leopardprint heels.
Clearly, Sturgeon was hoping to knock those spots off her.
nevertheless, clearly eager to give the world a show of unity, the two women posed together, mirroring each other’s stance, two sets of hands clasped calmly on the arms of their respective chairs. But while
May’s fingers, elegant with their classic red nails, were relaxed and open, Sturgeon’s grip appeared somewhat tenser, her right thumb at an awkward angle, bearing down on her left index finger in a vice-like grip, as though having to use every ounce of selfcontrol to stop herself poking her rival in that gimlet eye.
Their expressions, too, told very different stories. May is pictured laughing all the way to her eyes, her head thrown slightly back, her chin sinking into her neck. It’s a relaxed, natural pose, her gaze confident and aimed directly at the camera.
Sturgeon, by contrast, looks less comfortable. She is glancing off to one side, her eyes like two hard little chocolate buttons, her smile about as warm and welcoming as Loch Lomond on a winter’s day.
But what stands out here are the legs – and the vast expanse on show. There is no doubt that both women consider their pins to be the finest weapon in their physical arsenal. Consequently, both have been unsheathed.
May’s famously long extremities are demurely arranged in her customary finishing- school stance – knees tightly together, calves at a flattering diagonal, feet neatly aligned. It’s a studied pose that reminds us that for all her confidence, she is ever the vicar’s daughter, always respectful and anxious not to put a foot wrong.
Sturgeon’s shorter but undeniably more shapely shanks are altogether more flirty, tantalisingly crossed, with the dominant leg pointing towards her audience.
It’s a direct attempt at seduction: her stiletto is not quite dangling off her foot, but it could be. ‘Come, succumb to my revolutionary allure,’ she seems to be saying. ‘You know you want to.’
The message to the Scottish electorate is clear. They have a simple choice: on the one hand the reliable, measured, considerate and cautious politics of Mrs May and the safety of a Union that has endured for 300 years – on the other a wild, dangerous leap into the unknown, a glorious moment of rebellion which could all too easily lead to a lifetime of regrets.