I'm Scottiish an love love love Scotland and all it stand for
Robert Burns.
Tunnock’s Teacakes.
The first two hours of Optimo. Social club meets dancefloor warm up, with a radical musical education thrown in.
The fact that after surveying people from all over the UK, the Scottish accent was regarded as by far the most trusted.
The wee wifies that work at the hamburger stall inside the Barras.
The song ‘Mogwai fear Satan’. Three notes, five guys, 16 minutes. Pure genius.
T in the Park 2001, The Second Stage, Saturday afternoon. The soundman sticks on ‘Shang-a-lang’ by the Bay City Rollers over the PA. The 5000-strong crowd break into a mass singalong. The Proclaimers who are due up next look on from the wings, astounded.
The sweat running down the walls at Cabaret Voltaire and the Arches.
Grand Theft Auto. We made that, we did. Ditto: Lemmings.
Having the Gay Gordons hardwired into your physical subconscious as part of your education.
The ridiculousness of the Edinburgh/Glasgow rivalry; conversely, that two cities less than an hour apart can have such completely different accents, cultures and outlooks on life.
Kelvingrove Museum.
That David Hume occasionally wears a traffic cone to go with his Grecian robes.
The ‘will I make the last train to Edinburgh or not?’ Russian Roulette sensation of queuing for Burger King or Pizza Crolla at 11.28pm.
Bhangra beats sneaking up on you in streets around the Southside of Glasgow.
The Barrowland sign.
Slam’s ‘Positive Education’. Glasgow’s dancefloor national anthem.
That we come from a country that produced James Kelman, AL Kennedy, Irvine Welsh and Ali Smith, all world renowned, all completely different writers, in a relatively small period of time.
Wildcat Theatre’s Border Warfare at Tramway in 1989: a dancing riot of people singing ‘we’re no gonny pay your Poll Tax!’ to topple Margaret Thatcher, who had descended from the ceiling on a carved wooden eagle. Of course.
The view from North Bridge with Calton Hill and Arthur’s Seat on one side and Edinburgh Castle on the other. Right in the centre of the city.
Eating deep fried whitebait or lobster and chips on the harbour wall at Anstruther.
Partick Thistle.
The huge arch that carries Waterloo Place over Calton Road in Edinburgh.
The pronunciation, versatility and myriad usage of ‘gallus’, ‘mince’, ‘magic’ and of course, ‘shite’.
Heading to the Meadows with a carry out the first time the temperature rises above ten degrees.
Road signs in both English and Gaelic, just for the fun of it, probably.
Des McLean’s Billy Connolly Bullshit World Tour on YouTube. When we take the piss, we do it affectionately.
The series of step locks at Fort Augustus: a feat of engineering with a view stretching across Loch Ness.
Reading a sentence written by Janice Galloway. Rereading. Marvelling.
Really, really bad haircuts. From the Bay City Rollers to the T in the Park logo shaven into your head.
Arthur’s Seat. An extinct volcano in the middle of a city. Nice.
Luca’s ice cream sundaes.
‘All that way just to pick up a chicken?’ ‘Aye. She doesn’t make the best soup in the Highlands for nothing.’
Chips and cheese from the King’s Café after a loooong night in Sleazy’s. Aaah.
The way old sandstone buildings look cut out against the sky on clear, sunny winter days.
The word ‘nyaff’, especially when used to describe persons employed in the customer services departments of the public transport industry.
Clare Grogan singing ‘Happy Birthday’.
The classic Scottish/Indian curry. Especially from Mother India in Glasgow or the Dil Se in Kirkwall, Orkney.
