The Writer's Journey

Power up Prompt #34 - 6.28.26

Welcome to the weekly Power up Prompt! These weekly prompts offer up a genre, a setting, a character, and a conflict for you to use in a story or poem however you’d like! Submissions that use all three elements also get a guaranteed shout out on The Saved as Draft Podcast…

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4 days ago · 26 likes · 5 comments · Bradley Ramsey

“WTF?” was the only thought he was capable of.

“Mikonos?” asked the woman who 60 seconds earlier was a statue of the legendary Linara.

“Mikonos? Why aren’t you saying anything? I’ve been waiting 500 years for you!”

“Five hundred years?” he asked, his voice quivering.

At that she stepped toward him and he instinctively stepped back.

“Mikonos!”

“I don’t know who that is, lady. My name is Scott. Please stop crying,” he managed to say.

Slowly, very slowly, her sobs began to abate.

“Breathe,” Scott said. “Breathe.”

She stepped toward him again. This time he stayed in place.

Then they both raised their hands toward each other — she beseechingly and he with trepidation.

The moment they grasped hands, Linara threw her head back. “It is you!” she exclaimed. “Thank the Maker!” She lowered her head and stared into his very being.

Scott felt the electricity pulsing between them and then desire unlike any he’d ever known.

She began to pull him toward her, but he stopped her, gently this time.

“Linara? That is your name, yes?”

She nodded, and once again her eyes began to fill.

“Linara,” Scott said, clearing his throat. “You are the single most beautiful woman to have ever lived. There is no denying my desire for you.”

“You’re going to say ‘but,’” she whispered.

“No, I am saying ‘and,’” he replied. “As in ‘and we don’t know each other.’”

Linara gasped. “How could you say such a cruel thing? We are soulmates!”

“I’m not saying we aren’t. Clearly I feel deeply connected to you.”

“And?” she prompted mockingly.

“And,” he said, “I would very much like to get to know you.”

“Are you saying you want to court me?” she asked incredulously. “Like they did eons ago?”

“Not sure I would use that word, but if you mean slowly getting to know each other, then yes. I would like to court you,” he said, not recognizing himself.

“Well, that is true to your nature, I must admit,” she said. “When you were Mikonos, you insisted we wait until our 16^th birthdays to lie with one another.”

“Ah, well I’m 27 and I’ve never been with a woman,” said Scott. “Your death wish came true for everyone. Everyone but me.”

“Oh gods,” she said quietly, “you’ve been alone your entire life.”

“Yes. I am called The Lonely One.”

And then her sobs began once more.

“Please,” she asked, “please let me hold you?”

And this time he acquiesced. Never in his life had he experienced a moment like this. Her grasp was simultaneously maternal and filled with longing.

He tried to maintain a caring embrace but could no longer stand it. He raised her chin. She would not open her eyes, but her lips soon parted.

His kiss was tentative at first but soon became ferocious. Even though this was new to him, somehow it wasn’t. And the more they kissed, the more deeply they kissed, the more Mikonos made himself known to him.

“Linara,” he gasped, pulling away from her. “You are my Linara.”

“Yes, Mikonos! Yes!” she cried, pulling him into what Forlorn Island historians called The Greatest Kiss of All Time.

They turned to stone in an instant.

Dear Beloved Substackers,

I need to warn you right out of the gate that this week’s newsletter talks about sheep a lot. I mean a lot, a lot.

But before we jump into all that, I wanted to let you know it’s official: I will be appearing live on podcast on Tuesday, July 7 at 5:45 p.m. PDT. Given that he’s asked me to speak for an hour, I am bound to make a complete idiot of myself. I’ll be sending out the electronic invite from Chris as soon as I get it, that way you can watch me blather in real time. For some reason, an inordinate number of subscribers to this newsletter are mental health professionals — they should make a bingo card for this!

Three Sheep Rebellion in Real Life:

For those of you who haven’t made it to Chapter 21 of the Three Sheep Rebellion yet, good news: no spoilers! This is when readers are first introduced to Fiona, the World’s Most Loneliest Sheep. This is not fiction, btw, hard as it may be to believe.

Fiona was stranded at the bottom of a cliff for more than two years before a group of Scottish farmers and a very nimble Highland crofter rescued her. The dramatic rescue was later covered by news stations around the world. (Here’s a link to the full story for when you’ve got some free time. The overly dramatic intro music only lasts one minute but it’s a long minute. It’s 20 minutes long in total. Maybe pee first:

What happened next:

• Fiona was snuck into Dalscone Farm in the dead of the night to avoid some well-intentioned but misinformed animal-rights advocates camped outside.

• She received the best care possible and was soon deemed fit as a fiddle.

• The farmers did their best to help Fiona make friends for two years straight, but nothing worked. Sadly, her long isolation had stripped her of any herding instinct.

• Fiona’s profile had not dimmed on the world stage over that time whatsoever, so the farmers’ next decision left them open to an epic amount of mudslinging.

• They chose to artificially inseminate Fiona in hopes she would be able to bond with her lamb(s) who would be with her for life.

• The risk paid off in a very big way. Fiona gave birth to healthy twins in February 2026: Fergus and Felicia. (We can discuss Shrek’s involvement in all this some other time.)

• To quote many a Scottish farmer, Fiona is a “crackin’ mom.” She started loving on those twins from the moment they were born and has never stopped.

Why, why, why all this backstory? Because multiple real-life characters from the Three Sheep Rebellion came together in the following video filmed just last week: Fiona, Fergus, Felicia, Farmer Ben, and YouTube-famous shearer, Cammy Wilson. Many of you will be pleased to know subtitles are provided in the FB video because even Scots can have trouble understanding Cammy!

Cammy Shearing Fiona

https://fb.watch/I2vmuHid0_/

Apologies to those who don’t have FB anymore. There is a different version available on YouTube, but it’s pretty darn hard to understand Cammy in this one. Start toward the end of the video: 26:10

Something New

The OGs may have missed this: I started posting daily notes to celebrate the Community-Building Wizards here on Substack. If you are so inclined, please check out and share some love with the inaugural bunch: , , and

is at it again (what am I going to do with him?). This time he’s talking about my short story, “The Putrid Delta,” at the 23:20 mark:

Paid Subscribers Update

Lastly, some of you may have noticed I turned on the paid subscriber function. No worries — everything is still available to everyone. Apparently turning that function on triggers the Substack algorithm to show my work to more people. And the people are demanding more sheep, damn it!

Once again, thank you for reading, you gorgeous deviants.

Gratefully yours,

Miss Laurie Mac Mac Mac

Dear Beloved Substackers,

This week I find myself in a bit of a quandary. Here’s the situation: less than half of you, through no fault of your own, have finished reading the Three Sheep Rebellion. As such, what I want to talk about today involves a major spoiler. Like a major plot-twist spoiler. What is a scribbling, blathering writer to do?

Some of you may have heard by now the UK’s Prime Minister has resigned. (Did he do so after reading my serial? I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.) In order to not give away too much, I think it’s probably ok to reference the first time he is introduced to readers:

There is so much more I want to say on this topic, but I’ll zip it for now. Of course, if you want to DM me to discuss the tawdry details, I’m your girl!

What I’m Working On

At this point, it appears you all fall primarily into two camps: a) the devilishly attractive OGs who see what I’m up to once a week through the emailed newsletter and b) the rowdy newcomers who read my silly notes and occasional attempts at bad short story writing here on Substack — some of you even check in on me daily, for gosh sakes. I’m going to run out of my metaphorical lemonade right quick if you all can’t contain yourselves.

This was a long-winded way to say some of you have already seen this short story, so feel free to ramble off and read something by in the meantime.Those who haven’t may wish to join them, regardless. Simply said, I wrote a short story in response to a challenge and I couldn’t get the darn thing done. I need your help. Will someone please tell me how Oscar gets into the not-so-secret government research facility without being caught? Once you have solved that dilemma for me, the rest of the story will be easy peasy lemon squeezy to complete. Any and all suggestions left in the comments will earn you a place in heaven. Or at least an afternoon by a lovely babbling brook of your choosing.

As for that other short story mentioned last week, well, it’s being constructed by a dedicated Plotter and a dedicated Pantser (yes, , I’m looking at you). This led to the following observation:

I also submitted two other short stories to contests, but I can’t publish those here until the judges stop laughing long enough to tell me, “Nice try, lady. Don’t bother us again.”

I’m Not Worthy

Lastly, this note involves no spoilers as it is a review of the first chapter of the serial. Thanks again, ! (Recent subscribers get a pass if you haven’t read Chapter One yet). The rest of you, however, I will show you no mercy.

Thanks for reading, you darling wackadoodles!

Gratefully yours,

Miss Laurie Mac Mac Mac

This was the challenge:

The Writer's Journey

Power up Prompt #32: 6.14.26

Welcome to the weekly Power up Prompt! These weekly prompts offer up a genre, a setting, a character, and a conflict for you to use in a story or poem however you’d like! Submissions that use all three elements also get a guaranteed shout-out on The Saved as Draft Podcast…

Read more

16 days ago · 25 likes · 3 comments · Bradley Ramsey

So, of course, I had to take on the full challenge: incorporate the setting, character, and the knowledge vs. experience conflict. Which leads to the second “of course” — I didn’t finish by the deadline.

So, beloved Substacker, I’m now going to post what I have. My question to you: what should I do with this? Thoughtful, critical responses will earn you a glass of my oft-discussed metaphorical lemonade.

The Putrid Delta

Oscar was just a kid when the train derailed while leaving the government research facility no-one-was-supposed-to-talk-about. Over 20,000 gallons of metam sodium spilled into the river just three miles north of town leading to the death of a million fish and incalculable numbers of local wildlife.

Both the EPA and the Department of Fish and Game assured the community that the chemical’s presence would be undetectable within weeks. Instead, things got much, much worse. This is when an investigator from Pro Publica discovered the facility had been dumping toxic waste into the river for years. He infamously dubbed Oscar’s family’s hometown of the last 150 years as the Putrid Delta.

Oscar’s college application essay was framed to read as a strong academic curiosity, not as the obsession his family knew had overtaken him. He had learned in high school, sadly, that rambling on about the Putrid Delta and ecological disasters was the single best way to assure you would not be going to prom.

As an undergraduate, Oscar double-majored in Environmental Toxicology and Organic Chemistry. Even his professors found his interest in the Putrid Delta walking right up to the line of: It’s Time to Call the Mental Health Professionals.

When it came time to apply for a Ph.D. program, Oscar wanted one thing, and one thing only: to work in the lab of Silas Price, M.D., Ph.D. The reclusive scientist had no interest in taking on any more doctoral candidates, but Oscar’s tenacity and shared fascination with the Putrid Delta eventually scraped away his resolve.

When Oscar received the e-mail about his acceptance to the Price Lab, his whole family rejoiced with him, covering their relief that he would finally have someone to talk with who wouldn’t walk away in mid-sentence. At least that was their hope.

Oscar had been given access to the lab’s secure data repository to review over the next month so he would have some grounding on what he would soon be asked to do. He was chest high in some of Dr. Price’s more esoteric research when he received a ping. It was a file. A pulsating file.

“Is this a test?” Oscar asked aloud. “If someone is watching me, are you waiting for me to click on that file like an idiot?”

Thankfully, Oscar’s genius was not limited to the lab. He was also a talented white hat hacker — he quickly opted to open a virtual machine and dropped the file in there. “Last thing I need is to introduce a virus into the lab’s data,” he thought.

He then tunneled his infamous hyper focus onto the mystery file. “Ok, now that I’ve got you safely contained, what’s got you all hot and bothered?”

He clicked on the file and a VLC media player popped open. And there he was, Dr. Silas Price filling his screen.

It took a moment for Oscar to orient himself to the view. Dr. Price was standing outside the very place that had ruined his family’s farmland. And he was breaking in.

“What the hell?” thought Oscar and then he saw Price’s boots.

Subscribe now

Dear Beloved Substackers,

The new landing page has been unveiled with much heraldry! (I spent a ton on metaphorical buglers.) Thanks to for all her help wrestling the Substack formatting into compliance. She’s an absolute wizard – if you’re looking to make your page a place people want to hang out for a while, she’s the one for you! Please check it out when you have a sec. Feedback most welcome!

I don’t know why I can’t get a link that takes you to the landing page directly. Argh. This will get you in the vicinity:

Three Sheep Rebellion Real People Update

This week’s update has to do with Dalscone Farm. As some of you may recall, it was a one-off comment made by Dalscone’s Farmer Ben that led to the creation of the serial. The farm plays its role as a recurring character with aplomb.

Here’s a recent article about how the farm was embraced by the internet, with a major tip of the hat to Fiona, formerly known as the World’s Loneliest Sheep, god love her.

https://www.greatbritishlife.co.uk/magazines/dumfriesandgalloway/26013433.home-fiona-formerly-the-worlds-loneliest-sheep

What I’m Working On

I’ve finally been given the ok to share the Substacker’s name with whom I am collaborating on a trippy sci-fi-like short story (or maybe novella). His stories are very Black Mirror in their vibe. He’s an Aussie, so anything remotely related to self-promotion makes him break out in hives. As an American, of course, I’ve chosen to have the aforementioned buglers blow their horns loudly for . Best place to check out his short stories is here:

Lastly, I’m going to be a guest on podcast airing live on July 7 at 5:45 p.m. PDT. You’ll likely hear me mention this in upcoming newsletters because the guys with the bugles are giving me a multi-gig discount.

Thanks again for reading, you wacky bunch of miscreants!

Gratefully yours,

Miss Laurie Mac Mac Mac

Hello, Readers Old and New!

To find the Three Sheep Rebellion serial, click here:

To find the weekly newsletters, Scribblings & Blatherings, click here:

To find random works of short fiction, click here:

And for any other questions, feel free to send me a message!

This is the section in which I display my greenness as a short-story writer. It is likely to contain short stories and flash fiction, mostly written in response to prompts. And on occasion, I may screw up the courage to enter them somewhere! But I gotta tell you, the flash fiction world is fun. And really welcoming. So, if you’re thinking of dipping your toe in, all I can say is the water is both fine and a bit wacky!

Dear Reader,

In this week’s newsletter, we’ll be covering the madcap world of Substack, and my tiny piece in it.

For those of you who are new to Substack and/or are considering dipping your toe in for the very first time, consider this article as your life/sanity preserver. Written by Shannon Bindler, “The Unwritten Rules of Substack Nobody Talks About,” is something I would have benefitted from months back. Man, did I stick my foot in it during the early days!

The Flow

The Unwritten Rules of Substack Nobody Talks About

I’m not a growth guru or a Substack expert, just a woman who’s been posting articles weekly and notes daily for a full year…

Read more

a month ago · 1891 likes · 1024 comments · Shannon Bindler

Scientist @hannahun recently posted her observations of the first chapter of the Three Sheep Rebellion. Turns out her insights sum up the spine of the whole story!

I really like how the crisis enters through something so practical and ordinary. The world is already unstable in the background, but the real tension is at the kitchen table. . . fertiliser, seeds, money, food, neighbours. . .

What stayed with me is that the chapter is about the moment when economic choices become moral choices. Malcolm and Sally are deciding what kind of future can still be protected when the larger system begins to fail.

Three Sheep Rebellion Real People Update

Ok, some of you may remember back in Chapter 47 when Davina asked Blair if she wanted to go to a charity football (soccer) match. And how Davina just had to mention that the intrepid investigator Glen Barclay would be playing to see Blair’s reaction? https://open.substack.com/pub/misslauriemacmacmac/p/chapter-47?r=30n9qd&utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

Anyway, that match happened last weekend, but as part of their pre-match awareness building, the charity (RSABI, good folks) asked all the fellas playing in the match to film themselves playing “Keepy Uppy.” I’m not making that up. So, without further ado, here is the real life Glen Barclay playing “Keepy Uppy!” https://www.facebook.com/reel/1010805361615468. Oh, and his team came in second place!

What I Am Working On:

Continuing to collaborate on what is going to be a pretty darn cool short story or novella. You all will be pleased to know there will be not one mention of sheep.

I’ve also begun the tedious task of working on the second draft of the Three Sheep Rebellion. More to come on this next week.

Once again, thanks for coming along for the ride!

Gratefully yours,

Miss Laurie Mac Mac Mac

The Three Sheep Rebellion is a documentary fiction serial set in Scotland in the spring of 2026. Featuring an ensemble cast, this story shows the impacts of geopolitics when even the most resilient communities are faced with an impending food distribution crisis. Thankfully, the town of Milnathort has a particularly clever seven-year-old named Daisy who challenges them to simply do what makes sense, thereby irrevocably changing the course of history.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part 1: Before the Election

• Chapter 1

• Chapter 2

• Chapter 3

• Chapter 4

• Chapter 5

• Chapter 6

• Chapter 7

• Chapter 8

• Chapter 9

• Chapter 10

• Chapter 11

• Chapter 12

• Chapter 13

• Chapter 14

• Chapter 15

• Chapter 16

• Chapter 17

• Chapter 18

• Chapter 19

• Chapter 20

• Chapter 21

• Chapter 22

• Chapter 23

• Chapter 24

• Chapter 25

• Chapter 25 1/2

• Chapter 26

• Chapter 27

• Chapter 28

• Chapter 29

• Chapter 30

• Chapter 31

• Chapter 32

• Chapter 33

• Chapter 34

• Chapter 35

• Chapter 36

• Chapter 37

• Chapter 38

• Chapter 39

• Chapter 40

• Chapter 41

• Chapter 42

• Chapter 43

• Chapter 44

• Chapter 45

• Chapter 46

• Chapter 47

• Chapter 48

• Chapter 49

• Chapter 50

• Chapter 51

Part II: After the Election

• Chapter 52

• Chapter 53: And the Winner Is?

• Chapter 54: Paper Tiger

• Chapter 55: The Seduction of Legumes

• Chapter 56: Ears Wide Open. Mouth Shut Tight.

• Chapter 57: Oh, the Intrigue

• Chapter 58: The Tricky Parts

• Chapter 59: The Carding Machine Quest

• Chapter 60: Negotiations Have Begun

• Chapter 61: The Unblinking Eye

• Chapter 62: Pivoting Once More

• Chapter 63: Let the Shearing Begin

• Chapter 64: Manny’s Recompense

• Chapter 65: The Young Are Listening

• Chapter 66: Bearing Witness

• Chapter 67: Going, Going . . . Maybe Gone

• Chapter 68: On This Fine Day, Answers Given Freely

• Chapter 69: The World According to Daisy

Epilogue

Hello, beloved Substackers,

A farmer of some acclaim is fond of the expression, “Fancy, Nancy, Clancy.” I can think of no better way to describe the layout of my new Substack page. I may or may not get permission to name the magical creature who is making this possible, but if I do, look for it in Letter Three.

Subscribers will be receiving these missives every Wednesday at 8:11 a.m. (Pacific time) in their mailboxes. Followers and/or the curious are welcome to pop in here to see if that particular week is the one I finally become unhinged. Or perhaps I should say more unhinged.

Regardless, however you found yourself here, you are most welcome. Come on in and stay as long as you like. The metaphorical lemonade is just to your left.

Your faithful correspondent,

Miss Laurie Mac Mac Mac

POLL

What Do You As a Reader Want Going Forward?

Weekly newsletter

70%

Bi-Weekly newsletter

20%

Nothing, thanks.

10% (This vote came by way of my neurodivergent son)

One reader opted not to answer this question because “monthly” was not a choice.

POLL

What would you like to read?

New works of fiction (by me)

18%

My experiences w/publishing world

9%

Both

73%

Neither

0%

POLL

Would you be interested in being a beta reader for:

2nd draft, Three Sheep Rebellion

45%

1st draft, next book

18%

Short stories

18%

No, but thanks for asking!

18%

Multiple readers contacted me saying they wanted an “All the above” option.

RESULTS:

You, beloved subscriber, will be receiving a weekly newsletter henceforth. Right now I’m leaning toward sending these on Wednesday mornings. Initially, my guess is 75 percent of the newsletters will be about my writing journey and 25 percent will contain short stories inspired by writing prompts.

My current work plan is to use the 2nd draft process to determine if converting a daily serial into a novel is even a good idea. For the uninitiated, writing first drafts tends to be fun because you get to write with abandon. Second drafts are the opposite. This is where a writer is tasked with editing every line with brutal honesty. So yes, it sucks.

Simultaneous to this, I will be submitting a short story to a contest that has the requirement that the story must end with the sentence, “By morning, the sea had taken it.”

I have two other books in various states of development. Those will almost certainly be the topic of future newsletters.

Lastly, I am in the process of actively collaborating on a short story, possibly novella. I’ve never collaborated on a piece of fiction before so it’s been kinda crazy. Good crazy, mind you, but crazy nonetheless.

In closing, I leave you with this delightful piece that arrived mysteriously in the subscribers chat.

Post by: Machine Poet

Slept with a dictionary last week.

Big mistake.

She told the thesaurus.

The thesaurus told the encyclopedia.

The encyclopedia published it.

Now the whole reference section knows.

I can’t go back to that library.

The atlas keeps giving me directions to her house.

Until next time,

Miss Laurie Mac Mac Mac

“Daisy?”

“Yes, Auntie?” she answered.

“You know how your mum and da take care of all these sheep all year round?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, you know how hard they work during lambing season.”

“Aye,” said Daisy. “They’re always tired, hungry, and cranky and pretending like they’re not.”

“Nothing gets by you, does it, Daisy?” Alisa asked.

“Well, you also know about shearing time, of course.”

“Of course,” Daisy agreed.

“So, here’s the thing I don’t understand,” Alisa began. “We pay the shearers to come in because none of us could do nearly as good a job as them.”

“And you’d take 10 times as long. At least that’s what mum says,” Daisy added.

“That’s right. So, we pay the shearers £2 for every sheep they shear,” Alisa said.

“So, they’re rich?”

“No, honey,” Alisa chuckled. “They’re hard-working folk like us.”

“So, not rich?”

“Not rich,” Alisa confirmed.

“As I was saying, we pay them –”

“£2 for every sheep,“ Daisy interjected.

“Aye. And once we have all the fleeces bundled up, we have to send them to Wool Board.

“And the reason we do this? Because of a stupid law written in 1950!” Alisa explained.

“So here we are in 2026 – 76 years later – and guess how much the Wool Board pays your parents?” Alisa asked. “£1 for every fleece.”

“£1?” Daisy asked.

“£1,” Alisa confirmed. “And your parents don’t get paid until many, many months later.”

“Well, that just makes no sense at all,” said Daisy.

And, of course, please feel free to message me here on Substack with your ideas, suggestions, or anything else you’d like to talk about!

Gratefully yours,

Laurie

The following letter is to the generous readers/subscribers of the Three Sheep Rebellion. If you are not one of those kind people, you’re still welcome here. There’s some fresh lemonade on the table over there. Pull up a chair.

On March 17, 2026, I was fully planning on working on chapter 10 of the book I’d held off writing for 20 years. I’d always told myself, “When I retire, I’ll write that book, because those characters will absolutely demand my full attention.” I’d retired two weeks prior, and true to their word, those characters came pouring out fully formed with distinct — some might say devilishly specific — voices.

And yet, on that particular morning, another story came up and grabbed me by the neck and would not let me go. The Three Sheep Rebellion was that story, although I had no clue of that at the time.

There are two ways writers are often described. The first is the plotter: the person who outlines their whole story from start to finish, including descriptions of their main characters that would make a CIA profiler proud. The second are called pantsers because they are perceived as writing by the seat of their pants. A more accurate description is these are the writers who let the characters tell them where the story will go. I, my friends, am a pantser.

Here’s what happened. I’d been watching the Dalscone Farm FB page and heard Farmer Ben share a rather remarkable story. He mentioned that because of the problems in the Middle East, fertilizer prices were starting to increase rather rapidly. To give you context, the Strait of Hormuz had only been closed a little over two weeks at that point. He then said he heard about a farmer who had a stockpile of fertilizer who figured out he’d make a lot more money not growing wheat and instead letting the fields go fallow and selling off all his fertilizer for a huge profit. [Sidebar for readers who have been here from the start: yes, this is the genesis for Chapter 1, and yes, I now get to spell fertilizer with a “z” now that we’re back on this side of the pond.]

The next thing Farmer Ben said was a new concept to me: food chain disruption. He expressed concern that if enough farmers made the choice to let their fields go fallow, it would impact what food would be available down the line. Apparently, that’s when my mulling began. Then the long-dormant journalist kicked into gear, and just a small amount of digging showed Farmer Ben’s concerns were being shared around the world by people in the highest of places.

I won’t rehash all that here — I mean, how many times can I expect even the wonkiest of readers to sit through anymore of that? Suffice it to say, I wasn’t seeing this story covered in the mainstream media in mid-March. That’s when the muse made its rather strong case for me to tell this apparently untold story. But how?

That’s when I thought of Substack. I’d posted my first story a few months earlier when I saw firsthand the impact ICE was having on people who did not speak English as their first language. And, I felt compelled to tell that story on a platform that would welcome it. It was the same reason I knew this new story would find a home here.

What I didn’t realize at the time, pantser that I am, is my original justifications for posting a daily serial would not hold up. Yes, things were changing rapidly geopolitically. So posting a new chapter every day to keep pace with those changes made sense. Did it make sense to promise you a new chapter to be written and posted every day for the foreseeable future? Well, no. That was stupid of me. I also made the assumption that serials posted on Substack would not appeal to traditional book publishers (which you see referred to throughout this platform as trad pubs). That was wrong. Another thing I got wrong? Since it takes approximately two years for a book to be published, I figured this would be stale news, of little interest to anyone. And then I read a literary agent state there is nothing stale about the human condition.

Of course, I made another colossal faux pas in judgement, but I will save that for another day. Which leads me to tomorrow’s post. I will be sending out a poll tomorrow so I can get a sense of what you’d like to read going forward. Because you, sweet reader, are what I care about most here.

This is where I was going to give individual thanks to those of you who opened every email over the last two-and-a-half months, but you deserve more fanfare than I can squeeze in here. This just gives me something to look forward to writing in the days ahead.

Until then, just know you were the ones motivating me day in and day out to tell this story. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

Twenty-two months later, 87 percent of Scottish voters voted for independence. Soon thereafter, 91 percent voted to elect Graeme Lockhart as its very first Prime Minister. Jim Fairlie was named his Chief of Staff.

North Sea oil production, freed from Westminster oversight, came roaring back, but with strong new environmental protections. The money flowing into Holyrood coffers was directed to creating a self-sustaining food supply. Farming in Scotland changed fundamentally: farmers began to focus on growing crops that a) fed the people of Scotland and b) repaired the soil after generations of misuse. Farmers were paid a subsidy so they could sell their fruits, grains and vegetables at a price the Scottish people could afford while ensuring the farmers were paid a living wage. Additional generous subsidies were awarded to farmers adopting regenerative farming techniques. Harley Seeds adopted a “do no harm” approach to its business practices. This led to countless accolades and media attention.

Meanwhile, Manny and Devorah were pressured to become regenerative farming poster children. They demurred.

The Crooked Carrot project was adopted across the country. The grocery store chain Tesco was forced to look for alternate sources of food waste. Most importantly, the people of Scotland had access to fresh food at a time when other countries were experiencing near famine.

Glen Barclay was awarded the European Press Prize for his investigative reporting into Tesco’s practice of rejecting vegetables for cosmetic reasons that they later turned into feedstock to sell back to the farmers whose produce they had rejected.

The Three Sheep Rebellion Mill was up and running after two years of getting the barn ready, finding, repairing and installing the antique equipment, and establishing both the brick and mortar store along with the online store. Once the ridiculous U.S. tariffs had been removed, the first runs of Three Sheep Rebellion yarn completely sold out. Early investors in the Rebellion earned a very healthy ROI. Additionally, the Mill was seen as Best in Class for its environmentally progressive practices.

Trish and James laid the groundwork which later set them up for life: breeding pedigree Black Faced Leicester sheep. The wool from these sheep is the most sought after by spinners, weavers, and knitters, commanding the highest prices. This allowed for them to help Finn and Dom buy Malcolm and Sally’s farm when it was time for them to retire. The one caveat was they had to sell all the fertiliser in the barn outside the borders of Scotland. Trish and James were also able to pay for Daisy’s education through her Ph.D. and to post bail for the multiple times Daisy was arrested at various protests throughout the UK.

Graeme Bethune became a media darling. I suppose that goes without saying.

Glenna and Lachlan developed a lovely friendship after traipsing all over the UK searching in the backs of barns to uncover the machinery needed for the Three Sheep Rebellion Mill.

Alisa and Angus moved in together (the problems therein lovingly portrayed in the documentary).

Davina and Hamish began couples counseling. Blair and Calum begrudgingly attended when it shifted to family therapy sessions.

And then there was the narrator who started this story off by announcing the upcoming end of the world.

“So, it wasn’t the end of the world for everyone. Yes, El Niño came, global crops failed from lack of fertiliser and rain or too much rain, fuel shortages continued and the price for diesel exploded, and lastly, the food chain disruptions led to empty store shelves, and pockets of rioting. I should mention, however, it was, in fact, the end of the world for me,” said the narrator.

“You see, I was the least popular British Prime Minister in modern history. After I was barely able to squeak through the Scottish independence vote request through Westminster, the Labour Party made it abundantly clear that if I didn’t resign, they would have me sacked. They blamed me, you see, for the Co-op Party mutiny from the Labour Party. Once it happened in Scotland, the Co-op MPs in Westminster decided to break the 99-year alliance with the Labour Party, too,” he said.

“Of course, we all know it was Graeme Lockhart, my not-so-faithful cabinet member, who was to blame. The general public, however, didn’t know this. Best to keep it that way, I suppose,” said Sir Keir Starmer.

“And now the responsibility has fallen to me to set the final scene of our story.”

It was a glorious, sunny Scottish afternoon on the grounds outside the Three Sheep Rebellion Mill. Devorah had made an absolutely enchanting setting for the day’s festivities. She and some of her crofter friends had woven wildflowers into garlands which were strung from barn to tree to tree. The smell of lavender greeted the guests as they made their way to their seats. And what a crowd it was!

You’ve met everyone here, but I’ll do my best to remind you who they all were:

Jim Fairlie and I were both there but did our best to lay low.

The ones who were incapable of laying low were the Dalscone Farm crew and Cammy Wilson of the Sheep Game fame. They did, however, leave their video equipment at home. And yes, Daisy was besotted.

Graeme, Ramsay, and Effie Lockhart and their kiddos were there. And yes, he was, indeed, still the Prime Minister of Scotland, but here he got to be just Graeme for the day.

The family of Trish and James took up an entire aisle, with Malcolm and Sally squeezed in.

Lachlan was seated with Glenna on one side and Millie on the other, along with her now prosperous family. Pictures later surfaced of the old hermit, well, beaming.

And, of course, the entire Harley clan was in attendance as the family of the bride.

“Ready?” Hamish asked of his breathtakingly beautiful daughter wearing her grandmother Gussie’s lace bridal gown.

Looking up at her father who was trying oh-so-hard not to cry, Blair said, “Ready, da.”

And with that they walked down the aisle to the already crying groom, Glen Barclay.

The day’s officiant, Graeme Bethune, leaned over and whispered to Glen, “You did good, lad.”

“Aye, I did,” he said. “I really did.”

Daisy held Ruth’s hand as she led the film crew to a paddock closest to the family home. Trish and James followed

“This is Cirrus,” Daisy said. “Cirrus, this is Ruth. She’s going to ask us a bunch of questions.”

“Hello, Cirrus,” said Ruth. “It’s so nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Hmmm,“ said Daisy. “He’s not too sure about you lot.”

The young fella holding the boom mic reached over and scratched Cirrus’ head in just the right spot.

“Ok, he says you can stay,” said Daisy. “Even if you haven’t noticed he’s the most beautiful kid you’ve ever seen.”

Ruth said, “I was just waiting for the right moment. And I know you’re not old enough to eat an apple, Cirrus, but once you are, my whole family is going to come out and feed lots and lots of apples to the handsomest goat in Scotland.”

Placated, Daisy asked Ruth if she’d like a chair. Ruth declined.

“How about a blanket?” Daisy asked.

Soon Daisy was seated on a blanket, leaning into her parents.

“So what would you like to ask? You must know everything there is to know about the Three Sheep Rebellion by now,” Daisy said.

“I have heard quite a bit,” said Ruth. “But I want to hear what role you played in all this.”

“Well, that’s simple,” said Daisy. “I’m the face of the Rebellion.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I was the one who pointed out that stupid law made no sense,” said Daisy. “And you know what else doesn’t make sense?”

“No, what’s that?” asked Ruth.

“It’s kind of a long story,”

“I’ve got time,” said Ruth.

“Ok,” said Daisy, taking a breath. “I have two friends, Bessie and Cara.”

“Your best mates” added Trish warmly.

Daisy nodded. “So, Cara was talking about the carrots they grow and she said her da can’t sell almost half of them because they’re crooked. And then Bessie said her da said they had a bunch of potatoes they can’t sell because they don’t look perfect.”

Ruth nodded.

“Apparently, the stupid supermarkets are convinced people won’t buy crooked carrots or funny colored potatoes.” Daisy said with a hmph

“So, I asked Bessie and Cara what they did with the ones that aren’t perfect – do they sell them for feed? And they said that can cost more than just letting them rot,” Daisy continued.

“You must have heard how hard it is to get feed this year, and how expensive it is, right?” asked Daisy. “Meanwhile, Bessie and Cara’s farms have a bunch of potatoes and carrots rotting away,” she said, shaking her head.

“So now we have another thing that just makes no sense at all. But now that I’ve been hanging out with my auntie Alisa so much, I realised this was something I could do something about. Especially with everyone getting more and more worried about having enough to eat.”

She turned to her mom. “Do you want to explain the next part?” Daisy asked.

“You’re doing great. Keep going,” encouraged Trish.

“Ok, so my mom and Glenna asked around and found out the crops around here that are getting rejected are carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, raspberries, and strawberries,” said Daisy.

“Do you know who Glenna is? She knows all sorts of things about farm machines and stuff,” said Daisy.

“Anyway, she figured out a way to get refrigerated trucks to pick up the funny fruits and veg and then bring them to a place where they could be split up into two sections: one for humans, one for livestock. Because we all know the victory gardens won’t be enough to feed everyone in Scotland” she said matter-of-factly.

“Although isn’t it cool that Jim Fairlie found a way to get victory garden kits to like a million families?” Daisy asked.

“But back to the misfit fruits and veg,” she continued. “We asked our friends Davina and Ramsay — do you know them?”

Ruth nodded.

“Ok, so they are really good with money, so we asked them where we could get some. To pay for everything,” she said.

“And they said wind farms. Apparently the wind farms signed something that says they have to use some of their money to help the community,” she said.

“But before we could ask them for the money, Davina said this project needed a name. And at that point, the Three Sheep Rebellion didn’t need me anymore because it turns out we were rebelling against nothing. I’ll let my auntie explain that part to you. She has lots and lots of opinions about that,” said Daisy.

“Anyway, I can now officially announce you are looking at the face of The Crooked Carrot.” Daisy then stood and took a bow.

Upon the film’s release the world responded to her bow with raucous calls of, “Brava, Daisy! Brava!”

And somehow, the world made a little more sense.

Final Chapter:

Three days later, Scotland’s First Minister John Swinney stood in front of a podium crammed full of microphones.

“Esteemed members of the press, thank you for joining us today,” he began.

“Something extraordinary has happened within Holyrood. Reason has won the day,” he said, then paused.

“A few days ago, Downing Street was advised the seven members of Scotland’s Co-op Party were adding their support to SNP’s Section 30 Order Request. I would now like the Secretary of State for Scotland, Graeme Lockhart, to join me.”

“Thank you, First Minister,” he said, placing his hands firmly on the sides of the podium.

“At seven this morning, I received a call from Prime Minister Starmer in which he said he will be approving the Section 30 Order Request from First Minister Swinney to allow a vote on Scottish Independence. He then asked me to help move the Request through Westminster.”

The room erupted — every journalist in attendance yelled out questions while the photographers, both TV and print, entered into high alert.

Lockhart motioned for quiet. “I promise the First Minister and I will answer every question you have. Firstly, it is imperative you understand the Prime Minister’s decision is not just what is best for Scotland, but for the UK as a whole. And this holds true across all the sectors in which Scotland’s and the UK’s interests are interwoven. Trade is a great example,” he said.

“Let’s look at the wool trade,” he continued. “I’m sure by now a few of you must have heard rumblings about The Sheep Rebellion.” He saw some nods around the room.

“What are they rebelling against?” he asked.

“The British Wool Board Monopoly,” yelled out a reporter.

“Aye,” said Lockhart approvingly. “And why?”

“Because the law says UK sheep farmers have to turn all their shorn wool over to the board every year,” cried out another reporter, getting into the spirit of the exchange.

“And what’s wrong with that?” asked Lockhart, indicating to a person off stage to join him.

“What’s wrong with that is it costs farmers £2 to shear each sheep, the fleeces of which the wool board pays the farmers £1. Meanwhile, spinners, weavers, and knitters around the world are lined up willing to pay a premium for this wool which is currently used instead to make carpets and stuff mattresses.”

“Who are you?” called out another voice.

“My apologies,” said Lockhart. “This is Glen Barclay, the reporter from the Scottish Farmer who has been covering the Three Sheep Rebellion since its earliest days. Please continue, Glen.”

“Thank you, sir,” Glen said, turning back to the microphone. “Two hours ago the leaders of the National Farmers’ Unions for Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and England, along with the National Sheep Association, were given a preview of an upcoming documentary about the Three Sheep Rebellion directed by Ruth Aitken.”

Glen looked to Lockhart who encouraged him to continue.

“Ruth has given us permission to share a major spoiler here,” Glen continued. “It turns out not once in 76 years has the British Wool Board enforced the British Wool Scheme law. It’s a true paper tiger. All growl, no bite.”

At this point, Lockhart stepped back up and asked for quiet. “Members of the press, during my call with the prime minister, he also let me know he was working closely with the Co-op Party to dismantle the Wool Board monopoly and replace it with a cooperative that will serve as one option, not the only option, for sheep farmers throughout the UK.”

Looking around the room, Lockhart asked, “Who were the two reporters who answered my Three Sheep Rebellion questions?”

Two hands were raised.

“Ok, First Minister Swinney and I are ready to answer all your questions, the first of which will be asked by the two reporters with their hands currently raised. What are your names and which outlets do you represent?”

“Rory Ferguson, from the Sheep Farmer,” called out the first reporter.

“And you, lass, how about you?” asked Lockhart of the very green reporter.

“Maggie Keller, The Kinross Newsletter,” she said proudly.

“Aye, are you the one who’s been covering the progress of the victory gardens in Milnathort?” Lockhart asked.

She managed a nod. “Make sure you call my office next time you’re ready to write another story. I’d really like to make you a cup of tea.”

Next Chapter:

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Graeme Lockhart arrived early at Number 10 Downing Street. Throughout his long career, he never envisioned a moment like this.

He was promptly escorted to the waiting area outside the prime minister’s office. He chose a seat that gave him sight lines to the office door and to the doorway through which he’d just entered. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of scurrying in the halls today.

Lockhart took this opportunity to scroll the news feed on his phone. His boss’ approval numbers continued to be the lowest of any prime minister in the last 50 years. There was no reason to think this would change.

The office door opened and out poured a bevy of aides along with press secretary Sophie Nazemi.

“Secretary Lockhart,” she said leaning in. “If you have anything remotely positive, lead with that.”

He nodded. Message received.

“Lockhart! Come in please,” came the accent-neutral voice of Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer.

“Prime Minister, thank you for making time for me today,” said Lockhart.

“You are a member of my cabinet, Graeme. It would be rather bad form to say no to your request,” said Starmer as he came out from behind his desk and motioned to the two leather chairs by the fireplace. “What would you like to discuss?”

Settling in, Lockhart said, “I had a very productive meeting with Andrew Hogley from the Wool Board a few hours ago.”

“I like the sound of that. A bit of a sticky wicket, though, yes?”

“Aye,” agreed Lockhart, “but we’ve found a way to remove 76 years of stickiness.” He then laid out the plan to end the monopoly, create a co-operative, and repeal the 1950 Wool Scheme.

The prime minister asked a series of questions ending with, “You think Labour will champion this?”

“The members of the Co-op Party absolutely will,” said Lockhart.

“And the pension costs will be taken care of by the farming unions?” asked Starmer.

Graeme nodded. Starmer exhaled slowly.

“So we have a win.”

“We have a win,” agreed Lockhart.

“I’ll have our team start moving on this asap.”

“Excellent,” said Lockhart, turning to fully face Starmer. “The Co-op Party, not the one in Westminster but the one in Holyrood, is what we need to discuss next.”

“Ok,” said Starmer. “I know you’ve been part of the Co-op party your entire career, and, as you well know, I have not. But our shared allegiance to the Labour Party has always helped smooth out our differing views in the past.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how much longer the Co-op/Labour alliance in Scotland will last,” said Lockhart.

“We’re talking about a near 100-year alliance, Graeme”

“I know, sir, but in Scotland that no longer matters.” He then described the covert meetings between Scotland’s First Minister and the Scottish Members of Parliament affiliated with the Co-op Party.

“Let me guess,” said Starmer. “They hold seven seats and will give Swinney and the SNP the majority.”

“Aye,” agreed Lockhart. “And you know they will immediately come to you to discuss Scottish independence.”

“Good lord, Lockhart. How many times do I to say that isn’t happening under my watch?”

“I think, perhaps, now is a time to step back and look at the whole of the UK,” said Lockhart. “We are both well aware that after the elections, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland are all now politically led by nationalist parties. And they could form a formidable alliance.”

“What are you saying, Lockhart?”

“I’m saying if you don’t open the door to conversations with Scotland, Swinney will have no choice but to join an alliance with Wales and Northern Ireland. Knowing him, he would call for a summit at Bute House and make sure every media outlet in the world knew what they were up to.”

Starmer sat quietly, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Lockhart cleared his throat. “It comes down to legacy, sir. Do you want to be remembered as the forward-thinking prime minister who ushered in Scotland’s independence, or the prime minister who allowed the collapse of the Union?”

Next Chapter:

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Andrew Hogley, CEO of the British Wool Board, asked his staffer if the lighting was ok.

“Do I look washed out?” he asked two members of the documentary film crew. They assured him he did not.

“I want to thank you again for making time to speak with us today, Mr. Hogley,” said Ruth.

“No need to stand on formalities,” he said with the propriety of the Cambridge educated. “Please call me Andrew.”

Ruth nodded.

“As you saw in our email, we’re doing a documentary on the UK wool trade. We originally intended to focus on the state of the wool trade in 2026, but we quickly realised we couldn’t do that without looking at its history.”

“Oh yes,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you could share that part of the story,” Ruth suggested.

“Hmmm,” he responded. “I don’t want to bore anyone with what we all had to learn in secondary school.”

“Well, let’s pretend an American is watching this then,” prompted Ruth.

“Right,” he paused, collecting his thoughts.

“In Medieval times, countries throughout Europe clamoured for our wool. The money pouring in was used to build spectacular cathedrals and fund wars. It also led to the Industrial Revolution beginning in the mid 1700s. One of the most unfortunate results of the high demand for wool was the Scottish gentry kicking the tenant farmers off their land to make room for more sheep. This time period was called the Highland Clearances. Americans watching this might have ancestors that were forced to flee Scotland for the Americas during this time. Is this too detailed?” he asked.

“No, it’s perfect,” Ruth said. “What came next?”

“Well, the British government stepped in during WWI to make sure their soldiers were clothed, but after the war, the market tanked. The government then stepped back in to make uniforms for the WWII soldiers. After that war, it was decided the wool trade was a strategic national resource that needed protection from the vicissitudes of the open market. Which brings us to the creation of the Wool Board in 1950,” he said.

“Which was based on The British Wool Marketing Scheme,” said Ruth.

“Yes, it was determined to be the best way to handle the influx of the recently invented synthetic materials like polyester. The Wool Board was set up as a statutory monopoly to purchase and sell all UK fleece wool (except from the Shetland Isles). It arranges for its collection from farmers and its storage, grading and sale at auction.”

“Why the exception for the Shetland Isles?” asked Ruth. “For the Americans,” she added.

“Ah yes, so the Highland Clearances led to the Crofters Rebellion. And this led to Westminster stepping in to right some of the wrongs done to the tenant farmers. They passed the Crofters Holding Act in the late 1800s protecting them from the gentry, essentially. If a crofter owned sheep, it was theirs, not the lairds.”

“So, just the Shetland Isles then?” asked Ruth.

“No. Two secs. Helen,” he called over his staffer. “Help me out here.”

“The seven crofting counties are: Argyll, Caithness, Inverness, Orkney, Ross and Cromarty, Sutherland, and Shetland,” said Helen, quickly moving out of the frame.

“Thank you, Helen. Yes, the wool from these Highland counties continues to be in high demand,” he said.

“The same can’t be said for the wool you collect from the rest of the UK, though, can it?” Ruth asked. “In fact, the price of wool began a steep decline starting in the 1960s, but at least the sheep farmers were guaranteed a price that at least covered their expenses.”

“I think I see where this is going,” he said.

Ruth nodded encouragingly.

“The ending of the Wool Guarantee in 1993,” he said.

“Yes, and by 2015, it cost more for sheep farmers to have their sheep sheared than they were paid for their fleeces by the Wool Board,” said Ruth. “Which they are required by law to send to you, even though they lost money doing so.”

“In all fairness, the Wool Board sent recommendations to Westminster asking to do away with the monopoly in 2022,” he countered.

“But,” said the voice of the Secretary of State for Scotland, Graeme Lockhart, “Westminster ignored those recommendations because there was no political will to take on the cost of the pensioners’ fund for former Wool Board employees.” He then stepped into the frame.

“Secretary Lockhart,” said Hogley, quickly rising to his feet. “Are you here on behalf of the prime minister?”

“Yes, partly,” he said.

“And the other part having to do with the Three Sheep Rebellion, I assume?” Hogley asked, straightening his spine.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” said Glen Barclay, stepping up to stand next to Secretary Lockhart.

“You two have met, aye?” asked Lockhart.

“Aye,” answered Glen. Hogley merely nodded.

“As you know, Mr. Hogley, the Three Sheep Rebellion came about as a way for the people of Scotland to process and sell their own fleece, without violating the law,” said Glen.

Hogley nodded once more.

“And this brings me to my questions. But you may need Helen’s assistance here,” said Glen.

“Do you know what the penalties are for sheep farmers who do not comply with the law?”

Hogley waved Helen back over. “What is the answer?” he asked.

“A £100 fine,” she answered, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

“And how many farmers have been made to pay this fine since 1950?” Glen asked.

Helen looked at her boss imploringly.

“It’s ok. I’ll answer this one,” Hogley said, signaling she could retreat.

“The answer, Glen, is none,” said Hogley. “Not one farmer has been fined in 76 years.”

Ruth continued to hold her breath.

“We appreciate your candor, Andrew,” said Lockhart eventually. “And I want to assure you we did not come here today with the intent of destroying the British wool industry. Just the opposite, in fact. The Co-op Party stands ready to support all the recommendations the Wool Board laid out in 2022, with the exception of Westminster funding the pensioners’ fund. The Scottish National Farmers’ Union, however, has agreed to cover those costs for the Wool Board pensioners hired before 1995.”

Lockhart then took Hogley by the arm saying, “I have a meeting with the prime minister this afternoon and I’d like to share with him the plans you and I have developed to peacefully end this monopoly and replace it with something for the common good.”

The relied flooding Andrew Hogley’s face was lost on exactly no one.

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Over the clanking of silverware, plates, serving bowls, and glasses, Dom Ogilvy asked his parents if they had heard of Kyle Renton.

“That name sounds familiar,” said Trish.

“Aye, but why?” asked James.

“Well,” said Dom, “he gained some notoriety when he was 16 when he decided he wanted to prove how unpopular the guy running for their local Labour seat was.”

“So,” Finn chimed in, “he sets up his own ‘Kyle for Labour Leader’ page and — “

“He gets 7,000 likes in just a few days and the real candidate got like 1,800!” Dom said.

“Oh, I do remember him. Cheeky fella,” said Trish smiling.

“And then,” said Finn “when he’s 19, he’s made chair of a community group —”

“Inspire Inveraray,” Dom said.

“Aye, that’s the one,” said Finn. “And he comes in there with a business plan and laid out all his priorities, including getting a pier on the verge of collapse rebuilt.”

“And he made it happen!” said Dom. “Now that he’s an adult, he’s out there pushing hard for Scottish independence.”

“That’s something, all right,” said James. “How come you both know so much about him?”

“He came and spoke to our class today,” said Finn.

“About the McCrone report,” said Dom.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear they’re teaching that in secondary school these days,” said Trish. “Your grandparents were fit to be tied when they found out it had been buried by Westminster for 30 years.”

“Apparently, to this day, they say it wasn’t buried. It was confidential,” said Dom. “But it did take a Freedom of Information Act to have it see the light of day.”

“You would have loved it today, ma. That American exchange student was about to have an aneurysm!” said Finn.

“Which one of you is going to pretend to be her this time?” Daisy asked.

With that Dom jumped up and put on his best American teenaged girl accent. “‘Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me, in 1974, Westminster requested a report on whether Scotland could become a financially independent country through the oil found in the North Sea. And when the report came back saying Scotland could become one of the single strongest economies in Europe, Westminster buried it?’” Dom sputtered. “‘And they did that specifically to make sure Scotland wouldn’t become independent and kept the oil money for England?!?’” And with that, he grasped his chest and fell to the floor.

Daisy applauded and the rest joined in, making toasts and clinking glasses all around.

“But then Kyle brings up the recent elections,” said Finn. “And he points out that for the first time in modern history, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland are all politically led by nationalist parties at the same moment.”

“I didn’t realise that,” said James.

“Neither did we,” Finn continued. “Then Kyle said, ‘Imagine Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland all holding constitutional referenda on the same date. A coordinated mandate so together we are not treated like isolated separatist causes but instead as a multinational rejection of the union itself.’”

“Imagine that,” said Trish, wistfully.

“Imagine that,” said Daisy, firmly affixing this to her Things to Do for Scotland List.

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