To believe that a very high % of mumsnetters are Scottish

[greedygal]

I get this impression and have no idea why - is this my imagination or is this the case?

Where are you originally from?

I am thoroughly English.

Loved social dancing!

Just googled What Every Woman Wants.
Got the answer to what happened to the company (they did indeed go bust) but some of the other suggested links were a little choice...

Hated social dancing at school, but live being able to do it at weddings etc.

I'm Scottish too.

Born in Glasgow and my mn name gives a clue as to whereabouts

Have lived as an expat for longer than I ever lived in Scotland though still got my lovely accent. This thread has made me smile so much - what everywoman wants, glenn michael's cavalcade, candlewick bedspreads and I had those exact rollerskates in the 80s! Feeling a wee bit homesick now...

Scottish. I have jammies from WEW. I had a call from the hospital asking me to come straight in for a procedure and it was the nearest shop. They are good as new twenty years on. Granted, they were a rare quality find among the broon anoraks. There is nary a stitch out of place, no shrinkage either. They've outlasted several pairs of Markies ones.

I lived in Lincolnshire for years and was friendly with one of the magistrates who was also from my neck of the woods. Once a month we'd get Aitkens rowies couriered down and have them with builders tea. I made the mistake once of giving my boss a rowie. He spat it out saying it was like eating a salty slab of lard. I didn't speak to the wasteful shit for days.

I'm home again now. I still get a thrill when I nip in for an Aitkens.

I'm West Coast, Ayrshire. Love Arran, pure dead brilliant. Or Millport. Like stepping back in time.

Rowie?? Buttery if you please. I love batteries. Don't seem to be many stockists in Edinburgh.

Would I be right in thinking the rowie/buttery concept is basically a croissant without the fancy French pretentiousness?

Butteries. I like butteries. Not batteries.

I loved my candlewick. If you find a real one now they are £££!
I had brushed nylon sheets - if I got into bed in the dark you could actually see sparks.
Omg, the Skirt and Slack Centre! Where was that again? Do any of you remember Virgo and Chelsea Girl?

Ahem, peerless Pirlo

That's me caught up with everything I think

Now I've got the WEW advert as an earworm!!

I was always getting told off for pooking at the candlewick bedspreads and picking at the woodchip wallpaper when I was sitting gassing tae mah pals oan the trimphone.

Didn't Chelsea Girl become River Island? It seemed to go from one to the other just about overnight in Dumfries. I thought RI was so posh at first with its wood clad interior and its piped creole type music. Actually, the clothes probably cost the same in the late '80s as they do now!

Nae chance o gassing to my pals. We had a lock on our phone. Cruel.

Loved a good pick at woodchip at my granny's house though. Especially after she came home from the bingo with a wee carryoot o Snowball and some cheese and onion crisps. And when my Granda came back from the Legion. Always a copy of WarCry from the nice Sally Army mannie to read. Loved ma granny and granda.

Aye, good times indeed.
Night all. Maybe we can get to 1000 tomorrow!

This is just to get it past 666.

I have a recipe for home-made "Tunnocks" tea-cakes and snowballs. They're great fun to make and very messy.

POloMint CIty

You must be just down the road from me

And you must be over 40

I remember the skirt and slack centre
Whit every Wummin wants
lady at Lord John

And the posh places

Lewis's
Copeland and Lyle
Bremners
Goldbergs
Wylie and Lochheads

Recipe for rowies/butteries

www.scottishrecipes.co.uk/butteries.php

Fit like ab'dy?

Nae bad

Oh, accents, such a minefield!

I was born in Aberdeen, to a Doric-speaking father, and Invernessian mother, in the '60's. While Mick Jagger et al were desperately cultivating prolish accents, my dad was equally desperate that we should speak comprehensible English, as he felt his own accent/dialect held him back, career-wise. And it probably did.

So, I can, and mostly do, speak quite clear English (albeit Scottish-accented, just don't use many dialect words) and have encouraged Edinburgh-born dc to be the same. We moved to Ayrshire when they were aged 8 and 11, and soon noticed they were changing their accents to fit in; we told them that was fine for school, but not at home. (The complete opposite from when I was growing up!)

They're adults now, and dgs is coming up to 5. His parents are no longer together, but very amicable, his mother speaks Ayrshire (but again, not much dialect) and ds encourages clearer English. Dgs is doing fine.

So why the fuck do I find myself, as granny, starting to use my native dialect, for so long suppressed, with dgs? I'm using words like "havers", "footering" and (I don't even know how to spell this one, but it sounds like) "kyavin'". I'm saying "loon" instead of "boy", "quine"... I'm hearing myself using my "native" dialect much more frequently than I have for 40-odd years, though I'm not quite at "Fit like a day, loon?" (I have tried "Foo's yer doos?" but have met universal incomprehension, so don't use it any more. )

You get the picture? Do I just want him to hear these words in the future, when I'm gone (I'm only 52, my death is not imminent) and have a sentimental connection with me/that part of his family history?

Or am I just overthinking everything in the small hours, menopausally-overwhelmed by thoughts of butteries?

(The latter is more likely. Night, night.)

Oh was deep when I was at school only time we were allowed to use dialect was p7 when we did a project on scotland I was to speak English any way I slip in and out of aye naw, yes no, depending on who im witn,

Oh my goodness, have only read the last page, need to read the rest, but this thread will make me cry, I think. I remember all those things, though it took me a while to dredge WEW out of the back of my mind. Looking forward to reading the rest later!

Ahhhh Whateveries!

A family trip to Clydebank for chips in the Shopping Mall (2), and a scoot round poundstrecher!

Ah, "fostering" is such a wonderful word.

Any Aberdonians remember a men's clothing shop think was Mr Beaujangles. I have a memory of it being quite sleazy looking with big black and white posters of scantily clad women.

I had an amazing jumpsuit from WEW - it was black with blue flecks all over it. Would be back k in fashion now but prob couldn't even get it over my knees.