Unlike my old man, who wears his kilt nearly daily (see Mackenzie tartan to the left), I only seem to find myself in one when I'm about to encounter drink. Weddings, mostly. Or, once a year, at the Scottish Political Journalists' Association dinner. So thanks this year to the Scotsman for the invite. Please don't put me next to you-know-who.
The SPJA is a very relaxed sort of trade union. One annual dinner, and a golf game against the politicians. And very very occasionally they go on the warpath, usually over drink, fittingly enough.
The dinner is (I think) meant to be Chatham House Rules, which is why it took so long for the famous punchup in 2000 to come out. And it also means that I will blog any gossip that comes my way on Wednesday strictly without naming my sources. Promise. Probably.
Ooh! Ooh! Come visit us before pointy stick time and wear your kilt! We promise that there will be much drinking!