Helen’s comment on my previous entry put me in mind of what I’ve felt as the Scottish attitude towards England and the English more or less ever since I arrived here (seven years ago!). It goes something like this:
The English? Bastards! We hate ‘em! Oh, but we’re not talking about you, of course. Dear me, no. More tea? Scone?
I am generalising massively here, but it is the case that though I’ve felt quite a bit of anti-English sentiment here (World Cup, anyone?), I’ve met seldom few who’ve had a problem with me because _I’m _English. The exceptions are a drunk old man out side the Cameo cinema (that encounter proved to be too humerous a story for me to bear him any real ill will) and a couple of drunk guys in a shady night club. The later was two separate events, with both unfolding more or less exactly like this:
Him: You’re English.
Him: What the fuck are you doing in Scotland, then?
Me: I might be English, but I chose to live in Scotland.
Him: Aye… well… fair play to you, then.
Quite a reasonable outcome, I thought. Things might have been different If I’d said “I’m here for the football,” or “I’ve come to have sex with your family,” though.