The native tongue can be quite confusing, and that’s not just trying to understand the accent.  A "piece” is a sandwich, "messages” are groceries, "close” means humid, "druth” means thirsty and "greeting” means crying not a form of hello, and although now and then I consider myself to be a master of conversation I will find myself breaking into kiwi slang and offending someone!!  Or completely mixing up words, lollies are sweeties, ice blocks are iced lollies, piklets are pancakes, Pancakes are crumpets, Crumpets are crumpets???  With a lot of confusion and banter (comedic chat) we get there in the end.  I just have to keep practising my rolling R’s.

Then we have the city. Bustling, but at the same time, calmly beautiful.  The average Glaswegian has no idea that when they are head down marching along the streets, there is a beauty flowing above them.  Tributes to bygone heritages, carved figures that seem to be dancing along the tops of the buildings, intricate and delicate artwork carved right into the stone.  A credit to the magnificence that mankind have built.  The history here made me realise just how young New Zealand is.  Along with, William Wallace, Robbie (Rabbie) Burns, Haggis, Bag pipes and all the things we associate with Scotland.

I do find that being from New Zealand is something of a novelty, as it is the most sought after destination for the average Scotsman. Everyone here has a cousin, aunty, uncle or friend living in New Zealand.   Perhaps our close heritage has something to do with that.  I remember learning folk dancing at primary school which I now know is practised at a Ceilidh (pronounced kaylee, a dance with a band).  Most commonly chosen for 21^st birthdays, wedding anniversary’s etc and although New Zealand has its pipe bands, Wellie (gumboot) throwing days and we celebrate Burns nights it doesn’t quite seem the same until you’re here.  Watching the movie "Braveheart” here has quite a different meaning. 

Recently my 78 yr old father came to visit, to see where his father was born and to meet his only relatives for the first time in his life.  What an emotional moment, as was the Edinburgh tattoo we saw live for the first time.   Throughout my childhood, year after year, he would sit me down and make me watch it on the telly.  It was as emotional as it was a high. 

So I have my Scottish relatives, my cosy flat and my kiwi accent and I doubt that anytime soon I wont be offered Kiwis (kiwifruit) for the last time.  Some NED, (small time hoodlum, None Educated Delinquent) will shout "alright Mrs” and I will have to tell my story over and over and over as to why I am here instead of Tropical New Zealand.  I miss not having a back door, grass under my feet and fresh fush and chups, but I love my Scottish heritage and the fact that tomorrow, I can be having a coffee in Paris!