Having baled out of its stilted irrelevance at age 14—my earliest chance—my Latin is pretty ropey but I like the ambiguity of this phrase; normally translated as “the die is cast”—with its overtones of hot metal poured into solid moulds—than the more morally lightweight “the dice have been thrown”. But today, as I handed over ten crisp fifties, the most money I’ve held in my hand since I flogged my Lambretta in nineteen canteen, I was declared the official SNP candidate for the East Lothian constituency. That pleased me.

Anyone that knows me will know why that should feel good: I would be out campaigning for the place anyway; this just gives it structure and a goal. And anyone who’s known me for only five minutes will know that I have a mouth on me that naturally nips the heid of anyone in power, right up to Chief Executives and visiting royalty on behalf of Mrs McGlumpher of Auchenshoogle Avenue, rather than the other way round. For this, I make no apology, other than accepting that my style may still need a little work.

But six years on community council and twelve on the county have done nothing to blunt my enthusiasm for this stunning, richly diverse corner of Scotland that begat me, raised me and gifted me so much. Getting my oar into as influential waters as I can on her behalf is a more noble ambition than I have yet aspired to—and more electrifying than any throw of dice could ever be.