On Saturday night I unexpectedly found myself watching the Last Night at the Proms. As a spectacle, there was no doubt it was a much-diminished version of the last time I tuned-in some years earlier. The "bobbing" of the crowd in what seemed like a much “thinner” standing area in front of the musicians was still there – albeit many appeared not to have received the memo or were rather too self-conscious to join in. The music was reliably joyous for the most part, but the euphoric rambunctiousness of it all was gone, and it was all the poorer for it.

The Royal Albert Hall was not so much awash with flags, tatty plastic Union Jack bowlers, garish blazers and ties, as I once remember it being, but there were still flags aplenty being waved. This time however it was not the sea of red, white and blue, and harmless if unashamedly in your face displays of Britishness – portrayed of course through wall-to-wall Union Flags, but an altogether more “inclusive” display that had a distinctly apologetic feel to it as a result.

Read more by Calum Steele

Now I have to confess that I can’t ever recall a time in my life where I have felt British. I’m a Scot to my core. Married to a frustrated Scot (although she insists she’s Yorkshire through and through) I want England to lose at football and rugby and I’ll never tire of that welcome on foreign shores when telling our hosts, “we’re from Scotland – not England”. I have always found the conflation between the Cross of St George and the Union Flag to be mildly amusing – especially in sport. By the same........

© Herald Scotland