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This dates from the middle of last year. It got a lot of hits this weekend. Life really is strange sometimes


Please don’t get me wrong. I like the Scots, a proud race. I like them a lot. They’re charming and warm and welcoming, with a great line in gently self-deprecating humour. Unless they’re pissed weegies coming out of the Ibrox Stadium after a Celtic/Rangers match. They are none of the above.

Also I have to say that a Scottish accent on a woman is one of the most knee-weakeningly attractive sounds in the world. If a woman sounds like Clare Grogan, or Denis Lawson’s wife out of Local Hero, I’m putty in her hands. That might not be all good news, if you think about it a bit.

Enough. Where was I? Oh yes. So I like the people, but I don’t want to be one of them. And here’s why. I would at some point have to wear a kilt. And I simply do not have the build for it.

To look good in a kilt, with either the traditional short sleeved vest, or the rather fetching mess jackets of the full formal fig, you need the following. A neck like the Minotaur. Shoulders like Atlas. A chest like a barrel. A stomach like a washboard. (I’ll come back to the nether regions in a minute.) Thighs like tugboats. Calves that look as if you have half a cantaloupe stuffed down each sock, alongside the sgian-dubh. You also need the chutzpah to carry off Bobby Shaftoe shoes with aplomb. Look at the front of a box of Scott’s Porage Oats. The guy putting the shot. He looks way cool in a kilt, doesn’t he?

I’d look ridiculous. I have a scrawny neck, a 38” chest (Highland toddlers have a bigger chest than I do,) arms like twigs, a stomach you can see my spine through, thighs I can actually get both hands round with an inch to spare, and calves like pieces of knotted string. I’d look a total prat in anything approaching buckled shoes. They’d look like school sandals on me.

Then we come back to the problem of the nether regions, or the naughty bits if you want to be grown up about it. Traditionally nothing is worn under a kilt. Hence the joke, ‘Nay, hen, it’s all in perrrrfect worrrking orrderr.’ Ha ha ha.

Apparently, before they went into battle, Scots warriors raised the hems of their kilts and waved their genitalia at the enemy to intimidate them. I’d have been in trouble there, especially if it was a bit nippy on the day of the battle. I’ll leave it at that.

I think, given my physical shortcomings, all in all it’s best for the world if I never wear a kilt. I’m sure you agree.