I’d like to now identify as nationally fluid

You still here?” Youngest accuses as she wanders into my bedroom first thing, wearing a robe covered in stars. It’s a matter of fact question but hits me existentially.

“That robe makes me think of Europe. Brexit, leaving...”

“Mmmm,” she says. “$%$&%,” says Biggie Smalls, our cat. “Furball!” Youngest shouts and shoots off, returns with the butter and rubs it on his raspy tongue to wheest the wheezing.

“... And I’m thinking about identity... ours, well more mine really…”

“Hmmm,” she says, disinterested in the mess ‘my generation’ have made of things. “You’ll be late for work.”

“It’s all right for you,” I tell her. “You’re Scottish and European. You’ve got a European country citizenship and passport as well as your British one. I was born in Northumberland. What if Boris builds a wall, or I’m repatriated?”

“I wouldn’t mind living in Europe, it’s cool,” she says. “We’ll go there – you can come with me,” she adds kindly, “until it’s safe to come back.”

“When will it be safe to come back?” I squeak.

“When it’s all sorted. Maybe if we’re not part of Britain any more.”

“Either way, I want to stay in Scotland,” I tell her. “I like it here! I’ve lived nearly all my life here, half my family are Scottish, ALL my children, all you, were born here, Biggie’s fae Fife. I’m hefted here.” “Hefted?” says the city child.

“Like sheep.”

“Hmmm. Better get a move on,” she says.

“How about...” I say, “now we can identify as whatever gender or be gender fluid or neutral, I’ll be nationally neutral, nationally fluid, identify as Scottish, that could be a thing.”

“It’s not a thing! Go to work. Don’t worry about it. It’ll all be sorted.”

They’ve got this. Her generation. They’re not listening to an older generation insisting on ownership of a ‘once in a generation decision’. There’s a whole new generation here already and they’re impatient to make decisions of their own.

“Mum! Look at the time!” ■