I voted before 10 o’clock in the morning; at night I was at work. At my first tea time only the numbers of voters were coming in; at the second one the first dispiriting results were known; at the third the pattern was already apparent. Just before I left the canteen the Dundee results came in, renewing hope as they changed the current overall result to almost 50-50; but when I returned once my shift was over, so was the story: the results weren’t all in yet, but there was no longer any chance of a win.
I had always been only a lukewarm supporter of independence, so this meant no tragedy for me; I do admit I was somewhat downcast until I slept it off. I had hoped against hope that the referendum might be won, and that this would give not only the nation, but me personally a sort of new impulse, that it might have a kind of rejuvenating effect. (And it would be quite interesting watching the rebuilding of a sovereign country.)
Anyway. I expected defeat and it came. But I also expect that within 20 years there will be another referendum, a victorious one this time. Maybe I’ll still be around to witness it.