There really is no other news, at least on my Facebook feed. The English have now finally caught up and it's all noise until Friday 19th and then it will be a different sort of noise. I've found the whole experience horrible. I'm not one of the energised embracing a new discovery of politics - I'm disgruntled that my life has been taken over by nationalistic politics. Because that's what it is. There hasn't been much in the way of outright anti-Englishness but scrape one of those heralding the new iScotland with its guaranteed-in-the-constitution social democracy about well, what if it goes wrong and the answer is, if it's a mess it's OUR mess. Our being this part of the British archipelago.
The atmosphere - hysterical, charged - is a Sealed Knot society re-enactment of the early days of World War I. The cries of traitor, treachery, quisling, the sense that this is a heroic struggle and only the cowardly and feart will be on the wrong side of history, the solemn announcement that I have voted Yes, with the same pride as I have joined up to fight for king and country circa September 1914 and the proud badges waved on Facebook profiles. Those of us who think this is a march - well not to disaster but at least disillusion and certainly not the land of vibrant egalitarianism they are prophesying- are handed out metaphorical white feathers.
And for armchair generals, substitute armchair economists, for moving flags across territories you didn't know existed, think poll-watching, and for the Somme and Paschendale think a tanking economy, austerity, high unemployment, emigration. Ah, but all those will be ours.
The World War I motif is echoed by one impulse behind the call for independence as a cleansing ritual from the old imperialist Britain and the idea of making a new, fresh start, as in Rupert Brooke's line as of swimmers in cleanness leaping.
I got away from all this for a few days cycling through Perthshire and Angus in lovely weather, with the countryside turning to autumn. I expected to see the places hung with Yesses and Saltires, but there were not that many. Very few No signs and a couple of those vandalised.
No sign in inaccessible spot
A few yards on vandalised
I was glad that the flags were not much in evidence. I remember going to Northern Ireland in the early eighties and the shock of seeing so many union flags and the Red Hand of Ulster hoisted on poles in the housing estates. They were of course an assertion of British identity - and I did want to tell them, look if you're British you don't wave flags asserting your identity all the time. Coronations, the Proms - fine,. Leave them for special occasions. Constant flag waving makes you look like an insecure weirdo, like ostentatious Christianity (also evident in Northern Ireland).
Though the odd Scot Nat might decorate their dwelling's exterior with Saltires, the Saltire itself never had anything particularly political about it .People took it to music festivals and international sports days. A no voter told me she was happy being culturally Scottish and waving it at appropriate times but she was also a British citizen as well and now the flag is spoiled for her. I can see what she means. The patriotic symbol of Scotland has gained a more nationalistic charge.
I was cycling through Suffolk and Essex round the time of the Royal Wedding. The whole place was hung with bunting and at the local fair cakes were iced with the union flag. That was a cheerful, celebratory patriotism - but how creepy and sinister it would have been if the Queen was trying to grab the same powers as Charles I had, and how hostile that pretty countryside would have felt.
Yesterday I turned out for a rally in Edinburgh. About 5000 people making a NO sign for the benefit of aerial photography. Given that Edinburgh folk will only turn out for free fireworks it was quite an impressive showing, and those there, who are "oppressed by the Yes" as one said, were glad to be doing something that resembles action to match the Yessers' busy campaigning. A few saltires, a few Union flags and umbrellas. The signs were No Thanks, which we held up to the sky.
This kind of action is to cheer up the participants rather than influence opinion but when I stopped to buy a coffee the girl in the van asked someone why she was voting No. She herself was undecided. The woman she asked made the case that she could not see how she should be less united with people in Manchester and Liverpool as Inverness and Aberdeen. Then said she herself was English married to a Scot and could she wake up finding herself a foreigner with foreign children.
"What's wrong with foreign?" hoot the Yessers. Not much when self-chosen- but no-one likes to have it forced upon them.