A Son of the Rock

I was at work today.
And so was the rest of Scotland.
(Those of us with jobs still left, that is, in these credit-crunched/recessed/depressed, pick your description of choice, times.)

The first disruption came when my usual signal to get up (Terry Wogan) failed to appear on tbe radio.

After a full day I’d forgotten of course. When I got home and was about to sit down to eat I switched on the TV at the usual time expecting to catch the news. It wasn’t on. Instead there was some stupid film. And the so-called British media keep on referring to “the holiday.”

Well it wasn’t. Not for the whole of the UK, anyway.

Only one of the many annoyances perpetrated by the majority in ignorance of the quaint customs of the northern part of these islands.

The worst ramification of this nonsense came when, quite a few years ago now, Scottish banks decided to take English – and Welsh, I suppose – Bank Holidays. This meant that Scottish bank customers and businesses which were open as usual on Good Friday, Easter Monday and the last Mondays in May and August, couldn’t access their normal banking services and on Jan 2nd the banks were (uselessly) open even though the rest of Scotland was shut.

I suppose most shops etc. down South now open on these days, though, so not much difference in that regard.