The Envious Howl Of Scotland’s Sad Boys, Clutching Salmond’s Shadow Like A Comfort Blanket

There was a revealing moment in what was an otherwise nauseatingly deferential interview with Nicola Sturgeon by Adam Fleming on BBC2 last night. And by “deferential” I mean mildly less hostile than usual, which for the BBC is practically foreplay.

This is the same broadcaster that independence supporters have spent years calling out for its endless anti-SNP framing. So when they’re not openly frothing, the critics start shrieking “sycophancy.” Aye, okay.

And what it revealed was what Sturgeon’s critics are really about. Because as more and more cherry-picked extracts have been flung into the public domain this week, the overarching theme of the anti-Nicola grudge industry has become impossible to miss.

Her enemies like to say she’ll be remembered as a failure. Please. Inheriting Salmond’s “golden legacy” — i.e., a party with a built-in scandal problem and a leader on his way to trial — she kept the SNP dominant for a decade, survived Brexit, and out-manoeuvred every UK government thrown at her. The “golden legacy” wasn’t a gift, it was a poisoned chalice.

And she still drank it, carried it, and didn’t let it smash until the end.

Her election victories weren’t “a bucket of mouldy ham with a yellow rosette.” That’s just sour grapes from people who couldn’t win a raffle. She didn’t get every prize she wanted, but she held Scotland’s ground while the UK unravelled itself over Brexit. And let’s not forget: she was still standing when Salmond was in court, when May was in meltdown, and when Johnson was partying his way through a pandemic.

Set against that record, the “damning catalogue” of failures is laughable. Baby boxes weren’t tokenistic; they were copied around the world. The Scottish Child Payment wasn’t some grudging Alex Neil cast-off — it became reality under her government, lifting tens of thousands of children out of poverty, even if the exact numbers get nit-picked. She turned ideas into action while the boys squabbled over credit.

And that’s why her legacy matters — because it scares them. With their own cupboards bare, the critics are left recycling tired conspiracies about Salmond, painting him as a saint and her as the devil. That’s the whole game: protect his memory at all costs, and torch hers.

It’s a path they’ve been on for years, ever since she refused to play along with the Salmond protection racket. The “disastrous humiliation” wasn’t hers — it was his, paraded through courts and inquiries. And the only people humiliated more than him are the ones still defending him like he’s the second coming.

So this latest bile dump is just their last desperate roll of the dice. They’ve fired every grubby weapon they could lay hands on.

They tried to smear Sturgeon as a liar about equal marriage:

Only for history to record that her government actually passed it.

They tried to accuse her of fabricating the story about Salmond’s arrest being leaked. Even people who hated him admit the media frenzy was poisonous. Pretending he was “controlling the narrative” is like pretending a car crash looks better if you’re the one behind the wheel.

They hinted she was slyly accusing him of confessing to crimes. Nonsense. He was acquitted, aye — but don’t kid yourself that the women involved just evaporated into thin air. And treating “Not Proven” like it’s a shiny medal rather than an acquittal with a raised eyebrow? Spare me.

Of course, their semantic gymnastics were cheered on by the usual suspects in the press, whose editorial standards sink lower by the day.

She dared to note he was out-debated by Donald Dewar. He was. She noted he shifted to Westminster. He did. She said he didn’t read the White Paper cover to cover. He didn’t. These aren’t “smears,” they’re receipts. But apparently receipts are now character assassination.

Cue the press chorus. Kenny Farquharson leapt in with the same tedious vendetta, because if there’s a smear to be flung at Sturgeon, Scotland’s commentariat are never far away. And irony of ironies, they accuse her of bitterness. Projection much?

Yes, the book says Salmond toyed with devo-max. And the cultists rush to assure us he had a cunning masterplan involving secret chats with “decent Tory lads.” Honestly, if that bedtime story keeps them warm at night, let them have it. Just don’t confuse it with history.

Which raises the obvious possibility: Sturgeon’s not the liar here. The Salmond fan club is. Given their track record, it’s the safest bet on the table.

Or maybe Salmond kept things from her. Wouldn’t shock anyone. He was arrogant, secretive, and played people like pawns. That’s not genius — that’s mistrust. And if he didn’t trust her, maybe he should have looked in the mirror about why.

Yes, she talks about him a lot in her book. And that’s revealing. It reveals just how much her critics still orbit his carcass, unable to escape his gravity. They whine that she’s smearing him, when the truth is she doesn’t need to. He smeared himself years ago.

What they can’t admit is they’re bitter. Bitter that she survived him. Bitter that their conspiracy theories collapsed. Bitter that she still wins attention while they’re left howling on blogs about betrayal.

Readers can rest assured of one thing: Nicola Sturgeon still looms large over these people. They can’t write a sentence without her in it. Her book is out today, and no matter how much they shriek, her personal journey will outlast their tantrums.

And as for the last laugh? I’d put money on it being hers — because she’s still standing, and they’re still stamping their feet on the internet.

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