As you may have guessed from some previous posts, I'm scottish and really rather proud of it. I can drink my own body-weight in whisky, love running up and down hills, don't really mind rain/cold and devour pretty much anything so long as it's deep-fried (and no I don't wear anything under my kilt since you're asking). You have also probably realised I live in London. I love living here and I genuinely can't think of a better place to live.
Usually these two halves of my life rub along quite happily together. But not always. During sporting events I always feel a surge of patriotism; especially rugby for some reason (not really a fan unless it's six nations or the world cup). The strongest feelings of all come when Scotland are playing Englad. That is usually cause to don the kilt, go to the pub and sing(/shout) patriotic songs. It's at times like this I stick a note on my mental pinboard to learn the bagpipes.
Such an event occurred on Saturday. I didn't make it to the pub because I was on my way to a duty but I was following events on the internet. We were winning through most of the game so I was really rather happy. I was contentedly composing smug soundbites to send to English friends when, with three minutes to go, we conceded a try and conversion. The Cromwell Road echoed to my frustration (fortunately in broad Scots so unlikely that anyone around me understood). We lost by a whisker.
Fortunately my friends were magnanimous in their reflective victory. And I can derive extreme comfort from the fact Johnny Wilkinson buggered up a whole load of chances; I'm sure he's a perfectly nice chap but my girlfriend fancies him so was nice to see some of the sheen come off!
Back to being a civilised human and not a bad Mel Gibson tribute act!
JR
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