Normally, I wouldn't care about Culloden or even think about it. I don't disrespect the place or the memories, but I've always considered myself to be English.
Until now. I was talking to my mate Ziggy and got carried away with his enthusiasm. Damn it, I've lived half my life in Scotland. My home's here. My husband's here. I've got one true born Scots child (I went to the trouble of getting my son born in Yorkshire so he could play for the county cricket team. But as all parents will know, plans for the children rarely go to plan: my son never showed any interest at all in cricket, and the club changed their rules anyway).
So I've decided that now I'm choosing to be Scottish and am grateful to have the choice to do so. I'll keep my voice - it's BBC English and very useful for my job (some people say it sounds like the Queen - I hope not, I cringe whenever I hear the Queen speaking, though to be fair, I don't make speeches like she does or, for that matter, have her sense of fashion - one person went as far as to say it was the loveliest voice he'd ever heard. I do appreciate that, honestly, but would be a little more modest about it. But I like my voice and my accent).
Am I going to Culloden on April 17th to pay my respects to the Scots - and English - who fought and died there? I don't know yet. Maybe. My thoughts will be there, regardless.