What it is to be Scottish

Burns Night is the one time of year when every pure-bred Englishman can celebrate the true meaning of what it is to be Scottish.

Just as an highly disproportionate number of people purport to be in possession of an Irish Auntie round about St. Patrick's Day, everyone is claiming to have the blood of some tartan clan or other coarsing through their veins.

United Colours of Tartan

In fact 99% of people alive seem to enjoy claiming Gaelic roots at some time or another: you could go to the remotest village in Papua New Guinea, where cannibalism is on the menu every day - preferable to haggis though that may be - and the only clothing worn is a humble gourd to sheath the penis.

And any member of the tribe will try and tell you - in the local dialect - that he's actually three quarters Scottish and his grandfather used to play outside-right for Arbroath.

Sporrans

But why should so many people want to be associated with Scotland? Otherwise well-adjusted people don designer 'Rabbie Burns' sporrans and munch away on Haggises while listening to Big Country records.

And this year, to appease the trendies so I've heard, vegan haggis has been introduced for the first time: It's a blend of soya protein, nuts, herbs and organic oatmeal - inside a sheeps stomach.

Of course the romantic image of lochside log cabins and single malts is far removed from the reality of mainstream Scottish life. Your average Glaswegian, in his kilted wisdom, is more concerned with finding as many different things to eat in battered form as possible.

Battered

Which of course is why all the people who's arteries are just full to bursting with Scottish blood never actually head North of the Border themselves. Deep-fried Mars bars, battered pies and chips, deep-fried battered chips with chips.

What will it be next? A frozen can of Tennant's Super, deep fried in batter, served with a Glasgow Salad, I shouldn't wonder.

In fact real Scots probably don't have much room in their bodies for Scottish blood, what with all that batter clogging up their systems.

The good Whiskey, the finest beef, and all the intelligent, educated and homosexual Scots for that matter, are all exported south where they are actually appreciated, if only for their tireless work doing voices for television and radio.

Whilst people in London dye their pubes orange and fill big the bagpipes to create exactly the sort of stereotype the Scots tried in vain to leave behind when they left the glen for a career with BBC2.