This is Home

I love flying into Edinburgh airport. Not because of the size, or the facilities, but because of the RBS adverts which greet you as you walk into the terminal building. “This is Home” one of the captions reads, with a backdrop of one of the many epic Scottish scenes. It’s hard to walk past them without developing an immense sense of pride that this ‘home’ they speak of, is yours.

As my brother likes to point out, I said Japan was my home, and Brussels was my home, and now the bonny, bonny fields of East Sussex are my home. Sure, my home changes. But my homeland doesn’t. (Don’t feel like you have to change your adverts though, RBS).

I’ve been very conscious of my nationality recently. Daily mockings of my accent from Nick and almost-as-frequent questioning regarding my thoughts on independence, mean I’m unlikely to forget. But that’s ok. Being Scottish is pretty cool. Last week, there was a Burns celebration chez the castle. Haggis was piped into the dining hall (albeit by a laptop); the ode to the haggis was read (in a Keith accent no less. Dae ye ken Keith?) whilst the haggis was stabbed; Burns songs were sung beautifully by soloists, duos, trios and the choir; hands joined whilst voices sang out the anthem that is Auld Lang Syne and the night was topped off with a cheeky wee ceilidh with some very enthusiastic non-Scots. Pure. Dead. Brilliant.

burns bisc style.
life discovery: i do actually like whisky.