Scots have been misbehaving again, caught red-handed behind the bike sheds, fumbling around with self-determination, filthy little blighters.

Consequently, we have lately been on the receiving end of a variety of threats if we don't tow the constitutional line. "No pound for you, for your cheek!" according to Osborne et al. "Go! Walk out the door! But we'll be keeping the BBC," says culture secretary Maria Miller. Now the insurance giant Standard Life is warning that it could quit Scotland in the event of a yes vote.

Whether any of this transpires is, of course, anybody's guess. But what might Scots really miss if we left the Union, and what might we be glad to see the back of?

Good riddance



Noel Edmonds Middle England in stacked heels. Hamster-cheeked and coiffured like a land girl, but with the cold dead eyes of a hedge fund manager. Compulsory fun. The salmonella at a barbecue. Noel's HQ alone should have meant deportation.

Last Night of the Proms Braying, swaying, flag-waving embarrassment of maudlin sentiment cloaking post-imperialist impotence. Also, too much Per Una from Marks & Spencer in the audience. No ta.

Henley Regatta A nail-biting battle of sitting down and grunting while a little man shouts at you. The competitors are alright, I guess, but any sporting event that involves looking like an ice-cream seller in Disneyland can do one.

Nadine Dorries Particularly as cheerleader for a plasticised, virulently mean-spirited celebrity Toryism that debases our democracy. Narcissism posing as public service. Scotland would have mocked her brand of political snake oil into oblivion before we'd even heard of it.

London Voracious, monster city of rotting billionaires' mansions, malevolent corporations and political carpetbaggers. Sucking money and talent from all corners of the UK like a heart working in reverse. Also, north London types colonising decent pubs during the Edinburgh festival. It is SO annoying.

What will we do without you?



Wayne Hemingway Archetypal northern maverick. Sexy vowels. Hot specs. Arousing social conscience. Environmentally sustainable. More please.

Jerusalem, the hymn My GOD, but it's a CHOON, innit?

Posh experts The Antiques Roadshow crew. Decent poshos with great facial hair who know the price and the value of things. We just don't make people called Bunny Campione who can elegantly fondle a chairleg.

Feeling hard done by To paraphrase Michael Jackson in Ben, we used to say, "us" and "we"; now it's "I", now it's "me". But how will we define ourselves without someone to blame? Who will we shake by the lapels as our mascara runs down our cheeks and down another drink, trembling from the thrill of being used? Germany? Perhaps we can develop an inferiority complex about not being Scandanavian. Yes, let's do that.

London Oh, London, you crazy, mixed-up, teeming mess of humanity. You gloriously multicultural hive of industry and talent. Always teetering on the brink, but somehow holding it together. Alive with possibility. Oh, London, I would always regret you.