The Guardian twists the knife:
Five months from now it's possible that Scotland will pack up and ship off – if only to spite John Barrowman, in which case good for them – and then last week Cornwall was granted official minority status as well. If the edges of the country keep being shaved away like this, there's every chance that Britain will soon exclusively consist of David Cameron and Prince George bickering on the roof of a Waitrose in Thame as they listlessly fend off the broken-toothed savages of Aylesbury and Bicester with a sharpened broomstick.
If I sound a little depressed, it's because I am. Call me naive but, by and large, I believe in the power of union. Not in an aggressive "Hello brown people, you work for us now" British empire way, but more of a self-determinist Star Trek Federation way, where everybody moves as a single unit to advance society (while killing all the dirty Romulans for having weird skin and talking funny). I'd like to think that Britain, and Europe, and everyone else, can achieve more by pulling together than by erecting barriers.
But make no mistake, I only think like this because I'm jealous. If I came from an area as well-defined as Scotland or Cornwall, maybe I'd want to go it alone too. When you think of either region, you're immediately presented with its defining image. Scotland, full of beautiful countryside and majestic red deer. Cornwall, full of rich arseholes from Islington called Sebastian who've got crap ginger dreadlocks and septic wounds where their nasal piercings used to be. Scotland and Cornwall have strong, proud, established identities that are distinct enough to encourage independence.