The Yes campaign has the stink of death about it, and its supporters are pinching their noses and pretending otherwise. The polls have mysteriously reversed overnight (it seems to some), and a hint of panic trickles through the ranks of the politicians, advocates and commentariat who were so certain of a win not one year ago. Somehow a campaign designed to appear like a chess wunderkind launching a late-game play is instead reminiscent of a drunken, pot-bellied, elderly uncle struggling to rise from his armchair before his nightly laxative kicks in.
The only thing worse than a filled nappy is one that refuses to be changed.
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