Glasgow Cathcart by-election 2005

'Regardless of whether Watson ends up in Saughton Prison for a time or spends several hundred hours scrubbing grafitti from bus shelters, it's difficult to see any good which can come out of this. His sorrow seems to be at having been caught, rather than at the potential consequences of his actions. When he is remembered at all, it will be for his spectacular act of self-destruction, and with relief that he didn't manage to kill anyone in the process.' Richard Thomson in the Scots Independent, 9 th September 2005.

In the Drink as a Lord

By Richard Thomson in the Scots Independent 9 th September 2005

It's been a headline writers dream. In the aftermath of MSP Lord Watson of Invergowrie last week pleading guilty to setting fire to a set of drapes in a hotel, 'Up in Smoke', 'It's Curtains' and `Pull Yourself Together' were just some of the views offered by Scottish political journalists on the farcical series of events which led to his political demise.

For anyone who might have missed it, Watson was one of the attendees at last year's Scottish Politician of the Year awards, held in the Stables venue at Edinburgh's Prestonfield House. This is a night where politicians and journalists can relax in each other's company and as ever, it was a lavish occasion. After the ceremony, a number of guests including Watson, retired to the hotel proper to continue their evening.

PrestonfieldTrue to form, the drink and the banter were flowing freely into the wee small hours. However, the more Watson drank according to observers, the more his mood seemed to darken. He had just seen his former friend but now bitter rival Margaret Curran collect the evening's top award. Having been demoted recently to the backbenches after an undistinguished period of ministerial office, he would have been less than human if he hadn't felt a little sour about the way their respective careers had gone since 1997.

As plain old Mike Watson, he had been Labour's conquering hero back in 1989, winning the Glasgow Central by-election against a determined challenge from the SNP's Alex Neil. However, in the run-up to the 1997 election, with the number of Glasgow constituencies being reduced by one, there weren't enough seats to go round for Labour. He therefore found himself locked in a bitter contest with the then Councillor Mohammed Sarwar and Margaret Curran herself, to win the Labour nomination for the redrawn Govan seat.

The contest was acrimonious in the extreme, with allegations of racism, nepotism and phantom memberships being thrown around by the comrades. After a re-run of the contest and threats of legal action, Sarwar eventually came out on top and to try and heal wounds, appointed Curran as his election agent. While Watson was later given a life peerage in one of the more blatant examples of Labour's 'jobs for the boys' culture, it was no secret that he still felt hard done by.

Back in elected politics since 1999, he had been promoted to ministerial rank by Jack McConnell and then demoted in short order, and was now seeing the career of someone he had once regarded as a junior partner go from strength to strength. For someone who had once considered himself to be destined for much greater things, being refused service by a night porter after the bar had closed must in his drink blurred state have been the final humiliation.

Taking a box of matches, he headed upstairs to the deserted hotel reception. CCTV footage then shows him crouching by the base of a curtain before walking away. Footage from a few minutes later then shows flames licking up the curtain, with Watson apparently returning to check on his handiwork. Fortunately, once the fire was discovered by staff they were able to extinguish it and as the prime suspect, Watson was quickly ushered off the premises.

I have taken a close interest in this sad affair for 2 reasons, neither of them anything to do with politics. For many years, I played the fiddle in the summer months at the Prestonfield's 'Taste of Scotland' show in the Stables. Through this, I know many of the staff that would have been on duty that night, who would no doubt have served then been verbally abused by Watson as the evening came to its denouement.

Built from the ruins of the old Priestfield house, which ironically was itself burnt down in a political protest in the 17th century, Prestonfield has played host to Benjamin Franklin in its time. In its more recent history as a hotel, it has accommodated such luminaries as Winston Churchill, Sean Connery, Margaret Thatcher, Elton John, Catherine Zeta Jones and Oliver Reed.

In the last couple of years, I have seen how the hotel's new owner, Edinburgh restraunteur James Thompson, has invested millions of pounds of his own money into reversing the house's genteel decline, restoring it into one of the most exclusive hotels in the world. The single biggest improvement made in my view is that unusually for a Scottish hotel, it no longer relies on itinerant seasonal staff. In an industry where pay and conditions can be extremely poor, Prestonfield instead chooses to retain and develop people, all of whom seem to repay the hotel with great loyalty and commitment. It horrifies me to think how anyone, drunk or not, could have thought it was acceptable to put all of this at risk with such a reckless and pointless act.

My second reason is, if anything, even more personal. A hotel is just about the worst place you could ever be caught in a fire. There are flammable materials everywhere, while guests are often unfamiliar with the layout of the building. Throw darkness, fatigue and a good measure of drink into the mix and you have all the ingredients required for widespread injury and loss of life.

Sheriff CourtBefore I was born, my mother was the manageress at a number of hotels in the North of Scotland. One of these, a hotel in Invergordon, caught fire one night while staff and guests were in their beds. Thankfully, even though the hotel was destroyed, the fire alarm did its job and all the staff and guests made it outside to safety. The thought remains though that had events in Invergordon worked out differently all those years ago, I might not be here today. Frankly, it chills me to the bone that anyone would start a fire deliberately when the potential consequences could be so tragic.

By pleading guilty and resigning his seat in the Scottish Parliament, Watson, his spokesperson claimed, 'is taking full responsibility for his actions'. What a pity that `taking full responsibility' meant not owning up straight away to staff about what he had done, saying to the press at the time that 'I categorically deny any wrongdoing', and submitting an initial plea of not guilty, adding thousands of pounds to the cost of bringing the case to court.

It was drink fuelled idiocy which put Watson in this position, and pure brinkmanship which led him to hold out until the last minute to see whether the Crown would back down and either drop or reduce the charges against him. He deserves no credit whatsoever if this is how he sees 'taking full responsibility', and I hope that all of this is noted by the Sheriff when Watson returns for sentence on 22 September.

Regardless of whether Watson ends up in Saughton Prison for a time or spends several hundred hours scrubbing grafitti from bus shelters, it's difficult to see any good which can come out of this. His sorrow seems to be at having been caught, rather than at the potential consequences of his actions. When he is remembered at all, it will be for his spectacular act of self-destruction, and with relief that he didn't manage to kill anyone in the process.