So, here it is. The big day, when Scotland gets to decide its future. The polling stations are opening and will, quite rightly, be packed.
Despite having been Scottish for almost 36 years, despite having been both born and married in the heart of Edinburgh, I have no vote. I’m practically Sean Connery, having my say despite having left to find pastures new. Well, without the millions, cool voice and sex appeal.
Anyway, I’m a bit nervous. There are so many unknowns of what tomorrow and the future will bring. I’ll support whatever the decision is and I’ll continue the next 36 years being incredibly proud of my heritage. Aside from the lame jokes about booze and Mars Bars, I’ve never had a negative word said to me in my years in England. People like us and they like our nation, despite what the Daily Mail reading Andy Murray haters would have you believe.
I’m a British person and have always been proud of this when overseas. I’ve never been sure if I’m Scottish first and British second or vice versa. The reality is that tomorrow I may have no choice. Who knows what sort of passport I’ll even have?
My daughter, who’s 3, is aware that Mummy is Scottish, Daddy is English and that the flag that flies on the building at the end of our road is called a Union Jack. What am I going to tell her tomorrow?
People will vote in their droves, using their heads and their hearts. Even if I don’t agree with the result it won’t make me any less proud or any less patriotic.
So, for what it’s worth (which is basically sod all) I hope that we stay together. United, with a LOT of real change needed, but still United.
Please. Because the Union Jack will look a bit rubbish without us.