Beam Me Up, Scotty
I'm in Edinburgh tonight. It's such a beautiful city, but every time I say that out loud I'm consumed with the kind of guilt that only a native Glaswegian can understand. I was brought up to believe that our nation's capital is a dour and unfriendly place whose denizens lack the basic skills of hospitality. I don't actually recall my parents or teachers telling me these things, so these thoughts must have been beamed into infants brains from a big transmitter in George Square.
I guess they must have had similar transmitters around the country because in Scotland it seems you're not allowed to like one thing without attacking another. If you support Rangers, you can't like Celtic. You can choose sauce or vinegar on your chips, but not both. You can like acorrdion music, but not Folk. Church or Chapel. Hibs or Hearts. The Herald or The Scotsman. The Clyde or the Forth.
Yes, there are people who actually argue about the merits of rivers. Some of them aren't even anglers.
Except when we're abroad, of course, in which case it is acceptable to boast about each and every one one of Scotlands natural and cultural assests...even those we've only glimpsed on a souvenir tea towel.
Now, this is going to sound soppy and self-serving, but the first time I really found myself shaking off my Glaswegian shackles was a few months after I had left my jobs as a news reporter in Glasgow and had joined Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú Radio Scotland. As a fresh-faced radio producer, I found myself driving from Selkirk up the A7 towards Edinburgh and then across the Forth Road Bridge into Fife. Glancing across at the railway bridge I suddenly realised that my journalist's "patch" had widened to include the whole of Scotland. It was thrilling and liberating.
Today, many, many years later, I spend a lot of time travelling across Scotland and people are forever asking me if I get fed up with the journeys. Of course I do...sometimes.
But I love stopping off at different towns and villages and, believe me, I still get that sense of excitement when I roll into Edinburgh and find myself walking down Princes Street and gazing up at the castle or the Scott Monument.
That must be where they've put the transmitter.
Comments
or to comment.