And I wasnae dreaming about him either. If I was to dream about The Scotch, it'd probably be Karen Gillan, Laura Fraser, Ronni Ancona, Clare Grogan, Carol Smillie & Dawn Porter, all "commando" in short tartan skirts and flimsy white blouses wresting in the cold, icy rain in peat bogs¹.
But not Shirley Manson or Tilda Swinton.
Anyhoo, Alex Salmon and his fishy demands for Scotchland Independence.
That's the problem with the highlander accent - they say they want independence, and the hacking newsfolk think he's talking about sawing a trench between England and Whiskeyworld so that Sporran Country can form a separate kingdom and be responsible for itself.
That's coz they only listen with their spycam microphones hidden in haggis.
What Alex wants is a return to traditional values. And under the Hootananny² state, the bagpipe blowers are not allowed to wear dirks in their white sox, let alone perform a RiveryDance over the top of a pair of crossed Claymores.
And I don't mean a duality of Farley Claymores lying crossways in a big X shape wearing leather knickers and a basque. Nor Farley Flavours, who wasn't even Farley Claymore, as he wasn't even in the sequel (not that Farley Flavours wore leather knickers and a basque - I suspect Dame Edna did, under that suit).
So, denied their sharpened sword Samba (a dance based around crawling on all fours like that Lion King thing), they want a nice, soft alternative to frolic over.
Such as a pair of gigantic pens made out of foam with a square cut out the middle to allow them to interlock into an X shape so that they doesn't roll about or cut your feet open if you make a misstep.
And, wanting to Make It On Their Own, the red-bearded Tam O'WilliamShatner wearers don't want to use big companies like Parker, Sheaffer, Faber Castell or Bic, they'll use a local, independent manufacterer.
Hence Alex Fishface's call for a referendum on the shortbread munchers call for Indie Pen Dance.
Even better, once the judges have used the pens to write the scores on their large, oversized scorepads, they can then engage in Glad-He-Ate-Her style tournaments like that one on the pillars with the giant cotton buds (or Q-Tips as them foreigners call them) as Ulrika(ka ka ka ka) Jonnson tosses the caber of the manager of the local footie team whilst pleasuring herself with a deep fried Mars bar.
The only drawback is that unlike a regular Claymore, an oversized foam pen is somewhat ineffectual in the lopping off of the bonce when faced with Immortals such as The Kurgan or Ronald McDonald of the clan McDonald.
Contender.... READY! Glad-He-Ate-Her... READY! 3... 2... 1...
THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!
And it won't be the one with the floppy weapon...
God damn you misty Jocks!
Dr Sanchez: My aunt lives in Scotland; she says it's quite nice.
Dr Dagless: Well, she's wrong.
¹ ♪AS XYMON LEAVES HIS MOSSY HOME
BENEATH THE STAGNANT MERE
ALONG THE FOREST PATH HE ROAMS
TO HROTHGAR'S HALL...♫ SOD HROTHGAR - THERE'S CELEBRITY PRETTIES WRESTLING IN THE MUDDY FENS! EXPOSE YOUR LITHE BODIES TO MY RIGHTEOUS CLAWS AND LET THEM FLICKER AND WRIGGLE IN LECHEROUS GLEE!
² TO HOOT A NANNY, I BELIEVE, IS SQUEEZING THE "HOOTERS" OF THE "NANNY" (OR "BABYSITTER") AND MAKING A BICYCLE HORN HONKING NOISE .
