I knew it was time for me to leave the Scottish Parliament press corps when I was in
Deacon Brodie’s Tavern one night and pulled into a game of “name the top ten sexiest MSPs”. On my first day there, September 2000, the journalist next to me was in trouble for headbutting
a politician in the pub the night before. It’s an unusual place with antics that make Westminster look like a nunnery: I remember one set of political awards where a Labour MSP drunkenly set fire
to the curtains and was imprisoned.
I feel sorry for the poor members of the general public who come into contact with these MSPs – primarily through the Petitions Committee. It’s chaired by Frank McAveety, who forgot to turn his microphone off when leering after a member of the public.
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