It’s 50 years since the classic TV sitcom Porridge made its debut on the BBC. I watched the 1973 pilot the other night and it is as good as anything that appeared over the next three series of the show that ran from 1974-77.

For me, Porridge is as near to perfection as you can get re: sitcoms. Characterisation, plots, and the dialogue. Oh… that dialogue. It ain’t fashionable to celebrate it now, owing to a lot of the references being ahem… ‘of their time’. But give or take the odd clunky moment - barely enough to fill a scrap of prison-issue notepaper - and if you can see past the censoriousness of the ‘now’, Porridge’s way with words is utter genius.

Not just for the zingers – and believe me, they’re on tap – but for the ebb, flow and authentic rhythm of the script. Emotionally, as well as linguistically. There’s one episode – episode four of series one – called ‘A Night In’ that features pretty much just lead characters Fletcher and Godber (actors, Barker and Beckinsale) chewing the fat about life, the universe and everything, as seen through the filter of incarceration. Just them in a cell, one set, no music, just dialogue, and the audience. Could be theatre really.

Such perfection born of imperfection (the implicitly imperfect nature of the characters, their crimes and their situation). The yin meets the yang down a back alley for a quick shag, and from this coupling comes something brilliant – grounded not in Panglossian optimism but a kind of resilient realism; an acceptance that to envisage a life with no pain, no struggle and no flaws, where all is fair and just, is a fool’s errand.

I’ll tell you what I think it is: a grievous, disingenuous and almost criminal lie. One taught in the Big Rock Candy Mountain School of Politics. And in the class photo you’ll find pupils from across the political spectrum. But, sticking to Scotland, the worst of such nonsense has been propagated by the crew currently in power. All upsides and no downsides. McCakeism if you will. And it’s left us staring at crumbs.

Take the principle of universalism beloved of said state actors – that all things should, as much as possible, be available to all folks, for ‘free’ (a misnomer; nothing comes without a price, literally or otherwise). Nice theory. And even makes sense if you believe that using that policy to close off other costly consequences of the iniquities of beastly old modern-day capitalism, i.e. we invest in the well-being of the nation to thwart ‘want’, ‘hunger’, ‘ignorance’ and all the other evils of the Beveridge Report. Except…

… the outcomes say otherwise. Are life outcomes demonstrably better in Scotland as a result? Drugs. Alcohol. Poverty. Homelessness. It’s as though we’re going backwards. As though just chucking dosh at everything with a preening self-regard born of an assumed moral superiority isn’t really – practically speaking – doing anything other than shoring up a political narrative. “No matter. The feels are good.”

But surely, it’s better to laser-target support at those really struggling, falling short, or unable to help themselves for any number of reasons? Not for people who are doing OK like me? That said, there but for the grace of God etc. One day I might need a helping hand – and if that day comes, I’ll be glad of it. But again, surely it’s a safety net, not a comfort blanket.

That comes from someone who believed in it all. Big time. A passionate disciple, fiery idealist, and brow-beater all rolled up in one – what a charmer eh? I thought that it signalled a kind of virtuous intent that separated me from a horrendous caricature of the ‘other’, i.e. those who didn’t buy into the vision. It also, to my mind, would be achievable simply by making a cross in a box marked ‘Yes’. Spoiler alert: it isn’t. That’s magical thinking. As credible as the right’s trickle-down economics.

Simple answers wrapped in flags (union jacks or saltires, heck even EU ones) are empty nostrums. Promises written in air, in invisible ink. As we’ve seen now, everything must be accounted for. Even as part of the UK, with a lender of last resort, its own central bank, and its own currency, you can’t just buy or borrow your way to utopia within the terms set by this rotten global system. To pretend that you can, that we can offer all things to all, and with no downsides, is to subscribe to an infantilisation.

To put it another way, we’ve become prisoners of expectations engineered by folks who should know better. Thus many end up trapped by the hollow belief that all it takes is for our chosen champions to ride in for things to ‘change’, one big push politically will right the ship. Or a moment of empowerment will finally unshackle us – call it sovereignty or cloak it in the spiel of the common weal if you will (see Brexit; it won’t). The pursuit of an imagined idyll. Just beyond the barred windows. We deserve better. ■