You cannae be serious?

Ok, confession time. I want to wear a kilt, have always wanted to wear a kilt, think I would look very fine indeed in a kilt and am damn close to ordering a kilt.

Naturally, the usual problem for kilt wannabes has arisen: I cannot legitimately claim any connection to Scotland, other than a liking for being there. It doesn't matter that I hate the English in the way only someone who has grown up with English manners can. It is of no consequence that I hold Irish citizenship and have a Welsh surname. The fact that my favourite old rugby shirt bears a Saltire is neither here nor there. None of these things, nor eating Tunnocks caramel wafers or oatcakes and fondling the haggises in Waitrose makes me in the least bit Pictish.

Now, I didn't know this but there are also Irish and Welsh tartans. I have no idea if they are genuine and hark back to the blood and the cruelty of feudal times or have been dreamed up by some marketing whizzkid with a lorryload of plaid bought in a fire sale. The fact is, though, that these "lesser" tartans are just the thing, even though some of the Irish ones have shamrocks on them. Yuk. Happily, there is a Welsh one for my name.

As to styles, there seem to be two routes. One is the eight-yard full dress kilt and the other is the five-yard "leisure" kilt, in a wool of a slightly lighter weight. This seems more probable, since it is modelled with hiking boots and the aforementioned rugby shirt. The trouble is, I can't see it catching on in Jamaica Rd - and especially not on the blowy Underground - or in the chavtastic parts of East Anglia I frequent. It fact, wouldn't it be a guarantee of exposure to hatred, ridicule and contempt? I'm not quite as keen as I was when I started typing, but watch this space.