Inspector Mrs Potter - you knew Harold Potter quite well I believe?
Wife Oh yes quite well.
Inspector Yes.
Wife He was my husband.
Inspector Yes. And, er, he never showed any inclination towards being a Scotsman before this happened?
Wife (shocked) No, no, not at all. He was not that sort of person...
Inspector He didn’t wear a kilt or play the bagpipes?
Wife No, no.
Inspector He never got drunk at night or bought home black puddings?
Wife No, no. Not at all.
Inspector He didn’t have an inadequate brain capacity?
Wife No, no, not at all.
Inspector I see. So by your account Harold Potter was a perfectly ordinary Englishman without any tendency towards being a Scotsman whatsoever?
Wife Absolutely, yes. (suddenly remembering) Mind you he did always watch Dr Finlay on television.
Inspector Ah-hah! ... Well that’s it, you see. That’s how it starts.
Wife I beg your pardon?
Inspector Well you see Scottishness starts with little things like that, and works up. You see, people don’t just turn into a Scotsman for no reason at all... (goes rigid: with Scots accent:) No further questions!
Perhaps she’ll develop into a great Scottish poet:
Voice Over: From these glens and scars, the sound of the coot and the moorhen is seldom absent. Nature sits in stern mastery over these rocks and crags. The rush of the mountain stream, the bleat of the sheep, and the broad, clear Highland skies, reflected in tarn and loch ... (at this moment we pick up a highland gentleman in kilt and tam o’shanter clutching a knobkerry in one hand and a letter in the other)... form the breathtaking backdrop against which Ewan McTeagle writes such poems as ‘Lend us a quid till the end of the week’.
Voice Over: But it was with more simple, homespun verses that McTeagle’s unique style first flowered.
McTeagle: (voice over) If you could see your way to lending me sixpence. I could at least buy a newspaper. That’s not much to ask anyone.