I blend in. My clothes, appearance, voice, nothing gives me away.
I know my way, everything is the same. But the difference is all I can see.
The ancient king on the banknotes –
Scots Wha Hae.
The extra layer that’s worn –
Dreich oot thare th'day.
A bowl of homemade soup –
That wull stick-tae-yer-ribs.
The warm bed –
Yer beds on, sae ye kin corrie in.
How I am seen –
Whit ur ye doin’ up here then, hen?
Not showing off –
Dae ye think yer Fanny Toosh?
The stoicism –
Keep th’ heid!
Presenting the best of ourselves –
Yer nae goin’ oot dressed lik’ that!
Relishing to help others –
A’m juist takin’ Jean her messages.
Fools are not suffered –
Yer bums oot th' windae.
Speaking to strangers –
Aye, cauld mornin’.
Everything south of Gretna Green is England –
Whin ye goin’ back doon sooth?
Red cheeks and runny noses –
That bairns chittering.
The chippy for tea –
Dae ye waant broon sauce wi’ that?
Just as it begins to feel familiar it’s time to leave and those are the souvenirs I take.
Haste ye back.