London Scottish

May I first dispel any myths about Scots and Mars bars? Oh naughty…no, I’m not being rude, whatever you may get up to in your spare time. Quite simply, I’ve never had one, nor has anyone I’ve ever known or indeed do my close family or friends eat them as a mid-morning snack, or heaven forbid, for breakfast. The Scots are many things, but if we wanted to consume that many calories, we’d drink them instead…

It’s a funny thing being a Scot in London. Stuck between the ripple of amusement from these Southerners when I let slip a ‘wee’. Not literally of course, but my speech is so peppered with the word (I think it comes from a need to perpetuate my Scottishness) that I recently managed to blurt out in a meeting that I was going for a ‘wee wee’. ‘Um, not like I’m 5 years old and I say wee-wee I stuttered, I mean I’m going for a small wee’. Clearly, that didn’t make it any better; it was still far too much information.

So with that, entirely embarrassing and unnecessary story out of the way, what then of the other myths about Scots? Far be it for me to talk for a whole nation, but much like the Mars myth, nor are we miserly. We have far too much good sense for that. We are always the first to get a round in (as every good Scot knows, the first round is usually the smallest and least outlandish, the top shelf only gets a look in later).

I’m going to keep this short, so I’ll miss out the tough oats to fry like sporting prowess, political standoffs/scrutiny or philandering and our dear old Sean Connery and stick to; Do we really dislike the English that much?   Don’t be daft, how could we possibly, when you make us look so damn brilliant in the eyes of the rest of the world. Many a merit comes from being an underdog.

It is, obviously, no myth of course that we always love a bit of good humoured banter… (and really, I do love an Englsh crumpet!).

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