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When you are: July 2011

03 July 2011

Purely Scottish

National identity has been a subject of some debate in our house over the years. When I say in my house I mean in my head mainly, sometimes spilling into the wider world.

As an island we are very confused. Are we British? The Northern Irish never will be, as Great Britain doesn't include them - the United Kingdom's full title is the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. So British doesn't mean UK. Are we United Kingdomers? Who knows?

I'm British, also English. But what about my boys?

Well, to quote JJ:

Two poodles can't have a Labrador.

Which means as both parents are English that makes bambinos English too. Apart from one minor detail, that's the big thistle on their birth certificates, and the Scottish place of birth on the aforementioned.

Tell you what, let's given them Scottish names and then let them decide later on.

The oldest already has. He like his flag. HIS flag. Whenever we see the Saltire and the Union Flag together he points the Saltire out as his, but also sees his as part of the Union. He's setting out his political table too, I am happy enough he won't be the next Alex Salmond.

Over Easter I built the boys their climbing frame / swing set / slide / picnic table, and number 1 son said he wanted a flag on it. Scouring the tinternet for a suitable size MOTS reigned me in and downsized the flag size I wanted. When it boiled down to it the flags we got were small hand-held waving ones, the sort that sold out in nanoseconds in London at the Royal Wedding.

During a clearout of my wardrobe MOTS found my Euro 2004 (Portugal) England St George's Cross. A fair size bigger than the Saltires flapping in the breeze in our back garden it slipped perfectly over the Saltire wrapped around pole. And there it sat from yesterday afternoon.

They'll never take our garden!

This morning the boy saw it. He got the keys. He let himself outside. He climbed the highest mountain (the highest in our garden) to tear down the infiltrator's flag. He marched to the seat of the rebellion, and threw the St George's Cross at the moll of the rebellion leader. That is not my flag, that stays off, do not put it up again.

Well, that's us told. What was I saying about him not being the next Alex Salmond…?

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