The term “crisis” has been devalued to mean pretty much anything that happens which can be used in attacking the Scottish Government. There is no longer anything that is just part of the day-to-day challenge of running large-scale public services. Anything that falls short of ideal is a calamitous failure. Every difficulty, however trivial and mundane from the perspective of those who have to deal with it, is portrayed as portending the imminent falling of the sky.
There are no mere events in Scotland these days. Only a nose-to-tail procession of ever more dire crises. Every day is a red alert day. If Bruce Willis thought he had problems dealing with the bad guys in the Die Hard movies he should try travelling in Scotland. Or getting medical treatment. Or doing any of the things that fortunate folk elsewhere consider no more than part of life’s humdrum routine. You need all the attributes of a super-hero just to cope in crisis-ridden Scotland.
Some folk think they’re hard done by because a dozen or so of the most heavily militarised nations in the world are queuing up to drop bombs on the rubble that remains where their homes used to be. They want to spare a thought for the poor unfortunates who might have to endure the unspeakable horror of being obliged to journey from Falkirk to Glasgow by bus instead of train.
Nothing is ordinary in Scotland any more. Everything is extreme. Today’s crisis is the worst crisis since yesterday’s crisis. But nothing compared to tomorrow’s crisis.
The papers are running out of exclamation marks! Broadcasters are being forced to re-use superlatives!
Existence is extremis!
The trains are a bit busy!
Wur doomed! Wur a’ doomed!