I could forgive

stakes. It doesn’t take much imagination to work out why the national dress of Scotland comprises thick woolly socks and several yards of heavy woven cloth and that of either Barbados or Tenerife just doesn’t.

Of course, tartan remains a great selling point for this poor, wee nation of ours, especially with those furth of these shores who have difficulty seeing past the past and accepting the fact that we definitely have a present and might, with luck, a following wind and a bit of smeddum where collective decision making is concerned, some kind of plausible future.

There is nothing I like better, in fact, at least where apparel is concerned, than a man in Scottish national dress. A lad o’ pairts, if one can put it like that, who has the qualifications to wear the kilt, is always going to make his mark at home or abroad, with or without such optional extras as those rather poncey, lace-up, Jacobite shirts and, in these days of health, safety and the likelihood of being lifted for going equipped, the increasingly optional sgian dhu.

Whatever your tartan is, it has to be worn with an air which is where the kilt, sported by a gent with the kind of posterior to make it swing properly and the sort of legs with a lot of calf going on, will always score over such substandard alternatives as trews.

Now, I know a lot of men (without the aforementioned calf requirements) probably feel they are doing the rest of us a favour by disguising the potentially offending knobbly knees etc.

And I admit that a tall, rangy chap can carry off the breek thing. But (and I speak for myself alone), there’s just something affy defeatist about legs clad in what ends up looking less like Royal Stewart, Dress MacAlister or Hunting MacDuff and more like Mincing MacSporran. Without the sporran, of course.

Although there is apparently an officially registered tartan made for an American brand called Munsingwear. There but for a typographical error or two…

And given my general dissatisfaction with the upcoming season, you can imagine how chuffed I was to discover that there is, of all things, a Christmas tartan. The perfect companion for the Christmas jumper, mayhap?

It comes, apparently, in fetching shades redolent of festive cheer – green representing frankincense, red for myrrh and yellow for gold. Just the thing for festooning the celebratory table and wrapping useful and acceptable gifts, I suppose, although it might also beg the question of just how the gift-bearing three kings might have been attired while following that pesky star around the Holy Land.

If it were the Middle Eastern equivalent of the kilt, I might just find it in my heart to forgive them for what might well have been the first known example of cultural appropriation. But if it were trews? Nah. For some things, it’s just impossible even to consider turning the other cheek.

For some things, it’s just impossible to turn the other cheek

Picture: Getty Images. You don’t have to think hard to work out why Scotland’s national dress comprises thick woolly socks and several yards of heavy cloth.