Political sleaze and an offer I did refuse

NEW research claims that one minute of intense exercise could offer the same physical benefits as 45 minutes of moderate exercise. So finally, some good news for Angus MacNeil and Stewart Hosie.

It’s been a humiliating time for the two passionate Nationalists, especially after the Standards Commission was invited to investigate whether they used parliamentary expenses to fund their respective amours fous with Westminster journalist Serena Cowdy.

Cowdygate also reminded Mr MacNeil’s constituents of the time that the member for the Western Isles was caught after a ceilidh, engaging in drunken shenanigans with two teenage girls in his hotel room.

It also makes it impossible for him to refer to his time on the Scottish Affairs Committee without raising sniggers.

The consequences for Stewart Hosie are even more far-reaching. His liaison with Miss Cowdy has broken up two relationships; his marriage to Shona Robison and his bond with the SNP leadership. He’s been compelled to step down as deputy leader, and spend less time with his family

He’s also unlikely to head the party’s planned Summer of Love campaign to woo voters, although it’s a safe bet that none of the questions he might have been asked on the stump would have been as tough as the questions he’s facing at home in Dundee.

DO a couple of extramarital affairs really matter? Do you know, I think they do. There’s real disappointment here, because the SNP came to power promising us that they were different from the other parties. Now they’ve been caught with their M&S pants down.

The standard journalistic rule says that politicians’ private lives are not relevant, unless they negatively affect the way they handle the people’s business.

But the way a politician behaves themself in private must be pertinent, unless you believe that ethics can be compartmentalised.

Infidelity also affects the way we are governed: cutting short careers, affecting leadership of departments, and even compromising policy-making and security.

There’s also something very sour about someone using a position of power to act in a dishonourable manner.

In short, I’d like to believe that my elected political representative is pondering something a little more elevated than how to cheat on their partner.

I experienced something of this ignoble conduct long ago, when I went to university.

This was a year of firsts; my first experience of living away from home, in Aberdeen. I also got my first bout of food poisoning, after my first gormless attempt at homemade soup.

And it was certainly the first time I’d used an iron.

My first encounter with political lechery came courtesy of a former local MP and Grampian councillor who had survived a vote to sack him as our university’s Rector after he made a speech calling female students ‘fillies’ and declaring he preferred them ‘unbroken’.

He brought the same delicate charm to our encounter; patting my arm, then my bahookie, and telling me: ‘If you’re nice to me, I will get you a job on the Press & Journal.’

This was an alarming proposition, especially from a man at least three times my age,

‘If I had to be nice to you,’ said 17-year-old me, ‘I’d expect to be made editor of the P & J.’

And just to be clear: I never worked for Aberdeen Journals.