There are many more learned individuals who will offer many more insightful opinions about the detail of the legislation. But what struck me as I listened to reports of Gordon Brown putting pressure on his backbenchers, sweet-talking some, blackmailing others and using whatever means necessary to secure a majority, was the devalued currency of the constituency MP.

Remember the days when our politicians cared primarily about what their constituents thought about issues? I realise that we live in a representative democracy and that there's a political party system, but I can't help feeling that a lot of MPs have little more than disdain for those who voted them in.

We need only look at the recent expenses debacle of MEPs and the fact that MPs are quite happy to vote themselves inflation-busting pay rises to understand what they're really in politics for.

I remember when I was a boy in Glasgow my mum worked seven days a week in her wee shop in Sinclair Drive. The local MP in those days was a Tory, Teddy Taylor (pictured above right). Now my parents were Labour voters through and through. They would never ever have considered voting Tory; it was simply not an option. Yet if you asked my mum about Teddy she would wax lyrical about what a lovely man he was, what a caring constituency MP.

Taylor had that reputation; it was as if he was only a Tory when it came to elections – the rest of the time he represented the people of Cathcart, of all political views, and was proud to do so. No one in his constituency would complain of only seeing him once every four or five years. He was a conviction politician, a man who had beliefs and was not frightened to express them. I can't think of a single belief he held that my parents agreed with. Yet, nonetheless, he would take time and listen to my mum and fellow residents.

No doubt there are some contemporary MPs who feel a similar affinity to their electorate but I can't help feeling with the increased professionialisation of politics there are more and more opportunists on the green benches. The stunt pulled by David Davies on Thursday, of resigning and forcing a by-election, is simply exploiting his constituents to make a political point and polish his considerable ego. First and foremost, it seems, our MPs represent a constituency of one.

Seafood's Fyne but deep-fried pizza is finer still

It was a rare treat to have a free Sunday in Glasgow, rarer still that the sun had decided to bestow its warming glory upon the city. I had a friend up from London so decided to treat him to a drive up the west coast, an afternoon sojourn into the most beautiful scenery I know.

The road was long, with many a winding curve. After a couple of hours of blue-skied driving we stopped by Loch Fyne. Could there be anything more delicious than lunch by a loch? I think not. The Oyster Bar provided us with delicious smoked salmon, haddock chowder, juicy prawns and the eponymous oysters.

When it comes to the simplicity and the deliciousness of seafood, I'm not sure anyone does it better than us Scots. The drive back was even more glorious, the afternoon sun developing into the most perfect evening. Back in the bustle of city-centre Glasgow, I thought I should show my Sassenach friend both sides of the Scottish eating experience, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

As we rounded George Square I told him about the delights of a deep-fried pizza. For many Scots outside Glasgow, the idea of immersing a dough-based, tomato-and-cheese-topped meal into boiling oil (with or without the ubiquitous batter) is anathema. For those of us spewed out of the fair city of Glasgow, it's what we were raised on: a processed half slice of pizza, deep-fried and served with chips. Beauty collides with simplicity.

I'd like to say what a terrible meal it is, nutritionally speaking, which it is. But, my, does it not half taste braw. Having waxed lyrical about this repast, laden as it was with history and folklore, my friend was intrigued to try it. Excitedly, I stopped at the next available chippy and decided that we should share a supper.

Unfortunately for me I managed to find one of the few Glasgow fish-and-chip shops still run by Italians. They looked at me most disapprovingly when I asked for a deep-fried pizza supper. I was told in no uncertain terms: "We only do proper pizza." There were more of them than me. I left with a double sausage supper, a meal without the same resonance, but still pretty delicious.

Indisputable footie facts

I saw a sign outside a pub on Glasgow's Queen Street last week: "Come in and watch the football. We're not there but then neither are the English. And their population is ten times the size of ours. Hot food served."

Broadcast news is all good at Beeb's new Clydeside home

I'm back working at BBC Scotland some 16 years after I left. Since then the BBC in Scotland has been through tumultuous changes, chief amongst them a complete culture change caused by the switch to a new building by the side of the River Clyde, the wonderful Clyde (the name of it thrills me and fills me with pride).

And while the new building has had its fair share of controversy, the staff entered Pacific Quay with a new-found sense of hope, an optimism reflected in the architectural integrity of the structure itself. It's an amazing space, in many ways the perfect space for creativity. There are a few teething troubles, the predictable clash between functionality and design, but overall the place feels like the future.

But for me the most pleasing component of the experience of coming to work every day is not the newness, the promise of the future, but the fact that I keep seeing faces and bumping into friends from the past. Last week the wider BBC was accused of failing Scotland, of offering news programmes that don't recognise Scotland's political distinctiveness.

One thing is for sure: BBC Scotland isn't failing the wider BBC. There is the energy, the enthusiasm and, most of all, the ability at Pacific Quay to make wonderful programmes for the network centre in London.

The only thing lacking is London's desire to let go of control.