Choose Life. Choose Film. Choose creating a hit movie like Trainspotting. Choose a bunch of well-heeled public school-boys making a pop-video friendly slice of cultural tourism about wretched, impoverished Scottish life two decades ago and then vanishing off into the horizon to buy real estate in LA.
Choose playing comedy Scotsmen in Michael Bay crap-busters. Choose a Sherlock Holmes reboot with Lucy Liu as Dr Watson. Choose playing a key role in underwater adventure series Seaquest DSV. Choose an incomprehensible version of Star Wars where Darth Vader builds a gay robot and leads a full military assault when he’s only six years old.
Choose flaunting your leftie credentials while making promotional films for the Olympics starring the Queen and James Bond, and waving the Union Jack like there’s a still any vestiges of a Great Britain behind it. Choose writing a series of sequels and prequels to your hit book and finding that no-one really cares anymore.
Choose multiplex cinemas, streaming services dominated by mind-numbing, spirit-crushing US products, then go home to watch ersatz Upstairs Downstairs British heritage products on television with no connection to the lives of anyone who has lived in this country for a hundred years.
Choose watching your country rotting away for twenty years, unable to articulate its own experiences in any cultural form, forbidden to have a voice by its cultural overlords in London and their soup-taking friends at Holyrood, feathering their own nests blissfully unaware that all our cultural enterprises have died on their backsides.
Choose taking a million pounds of public money supposedly intended to help young Scottish film-makers and choose handing it to Sony in a battered briefcase to get your government-sponsored logo prominently positioned in the opening credits, advertising a service not available to anyone in the country it was supposedly set up to serve.
And choose Scotland, available now as a background to twee shortbread kilt-and-heather US miniseries, choose actors and directors wasting their final days away hoping for a bit part in River City, supposedly grateful to have the smallest ever bit part in world culture.
Choose your future. Choose having a voice… But why would I want to do a thing like that? Who needs a voice for Scotland when you’ve got Trainspotting 2?