So when is the English Debate?

Billothewisp eagerly watched the Great Good and Extremely Well Fed engage in their little televised tryst over running the country.

At the end, Billothewisp watched the nice Mr Dimble-Thingy proudly announce the other debates that will be taking place.

There will be one in Scotland, broadcast live (Rah Rah Hoo-Ray!)
The will be one in Wales broadcast live ( Yip Yiop Yo!)
There will be one in Northern Ireland broadcast live ( Rah rah hurrah!)

Billothewisp eagerly awaited the finale in this roll call of nations within these islands. With glowing eyes he stopped filing his teeth and wrung his furry little hands in expectation. He watched like an obedient child about to be rewarded with sweeties for being good and not complaining.

But then Mr Dimble-Dumble simply went on to the next item, telling us that UKIP and the Greens would have a small slot on the following news broadcast.

Billothewisp was puzzled. There was something missing. In fact it was more than a something. It was a whole nation. An Identity spanning 50 million souls.

Billothewisp scratched his head. Puzzled and confused he wondered about the missing nation. He watched the news in case it may appear there. All he got was a virtual repeat of the leaders debate and about 90 seconds of Nigel Farage. Even the Greens did not seem to make an appearance (or maybe they were so irrelevant he just didn't notice).

Still no mention of the missing nation.

Billothewisp racked his poor brain. He had vague memories that the missing nation was actually, quite famous. Funnily, he vaguely remembered it had a long history and a football team that didn't win much. It had a name. But what was that name?

Suddenly Billothewisp looked up with a start. Oh yes! Now he remembered. It was the word that was always to be avoided. The identity that must be denied and derided lest the Proles push past the crappy football team and seek their own governance under its name.

Billothewisp shuddered and gulped. With his heart racing he dared to speak it out loud.
“England” he said.
He furtively looked around him in case others had heard. But they were all too slam dunked by four cans each of Old Speckled Hen to notice.

Billothewisp had that old feeling of betrayal that swam up whenever he heard or mouthed the name of the non-country with its no-identity and no-representation and no-parliament and non-assembly.

He comforted himself with another Old Speckled Hen Suddenly the world was a little rosier. The sense of betrayal lessened. He replayed the Weasel words of the divine three and felt comforted. For the moment the loss of his non-nationhood receded from his thoughts. He went back to filing his teeth to jaunty little points.

But deep down, he knew that sooner or later, the issue of English sovereignty and identity would have to be addressed, however much the ruling elite wished to avoid it.

Billothewisp knew that one day, the nice Mr Dimble-Dumbly would have to add to his role call of national debates. That there would have to be a debate for the English on English issues.

Or there will be hell to pay.