Occasionally, we find ourselves without the necessary words to express an emotion or idea because the language hasn’t yet been invented.

Over the last decade, I’ve at times felt an unease at the heart of my support for Scottish independence, yet didn’t have the language to explain my discomfort.

The symptoms were twofold: first, I’d find myself enraged by the SNP to an extent which didn’t quite match the party’s offending.

Secondly, I’d catch myself casting glances in the direction of the Labour Party as a possible alternative to independence.

Some of this made sense. I don’t do flags or patriotism (respectively, painted rags and the last refuge of the scoundrel, I believe), so why wouldn’t I berate my own "side", given the sporadic displays of gaudy nationalism which frankly give me the ick?

Also, I came to support for Scottish independence in a way widely shared by many: I was once a Labour voter. As Tony Blair careened right, and then took the country into a grotesque war against Iraq, I simply walked away.

Read more by Neil Mackay

My support for independence was fundamentally predicated on this: I want a fairer country. Until the early 2000s, I believed Labour was the vehicle.

After Blair, I came to the conclusion that Westminster was simply irredeemable, and that Scottish independence was the only way to achieve the socially democratic country I wanted.

But growing up supporting Labour, through my formative years under Thatcherism, left its mark on me.

Every so often, I’d wonder if my longing for a fairer country might be better jumping horses: should I switch........

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