The end is nigh

Robotic troops defend the once peaceful border.

I presume that nigh is some vague unit of medieval time, like nearby, soon, about to happen, imminent or very very close, perhaps within a few moments. Then again nobody can claim to know the day or the hour but I guess for most god-fearing and terrorised voters way down south in the UK it must seem like some time around the 7th of May. That day will signal the beginning of the end if we, or at least enough of us, vote a certain way. Those canny Scots can't be trusted and with our thrawn and wilful behaviour we're destined to fuck up the UK so much that all will be left will be the K.  It may even become a small, lower case pathetic little k in time. That would be sad in a way but for many of us a bit of a relief. A kind of unkind  corrective surgery if you will and one that may not necessarily please all those who called for it. So this will be either the Great Election of Unexpected Consequences or the Great Election of More of the Same Pish. (Pish which has in many ways has served us well, kept us safe and healthy and given a few of us disposable incomes with which to explore parts of Europe and beyond. ) Neither will play well. We Scots will tear ourselves apart eventually, it's in those frozen, obese and damned genes we carry. All secretly hoping they'll find a purpose and outlet someday before we're stricken with self doubt and the queer desire for an imposed salvation from any posh English quarter. This may be it, but I have my doubts. It's the Devil's bargain and we're caught in it. Next up will be the summer of love.