Stop me if I've mentioned this before, but a family living a few doors away from us have a little white mixed-breed terrier that possesses the loudest, most repellent, nerve-shredding, concentration-destroying bark (more of a psychotic scream, really) that I've ever encountered. To be fair, they make efforts to control the little... darling - but to little avail: they drag it indoors when it starts blaring, but by then the damage has been done - if you're reading a book, watching a film or holding a conversation, it's almost impossible to refocus. They, of course, love it dearly. But the rest of us? We're not overly fond of it. In fact, it drives me nuts. (I'm not the only one, judging by the occasional roar of "Will you shut that fucking animal up!" one hears from the houses at the back).
Nicola Sturgeon's meaningless yapping has a similar effect on me. Whether she's on the radio or the television, the sound of her relentless voice is like a dentist's drill hitting the nerve in an insufficiently novocained tooth: I just want it to stop! I want to shout, "Will you shut that fucking woman up!" (and, if I'm alone, I will sometimes do just that). The difference, of course, is that I can switch the radio or television off the moment Mrs. Sturgeon opens her annoying trap: if I could figure out a way of instantly silencing the neighbours' dog, it would make me very happy.
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