THE suggestion that Westminster pass a law making Scottish banknotes legal tender in England would remove one of the major irritants in our relationship with the southern neighbours.

LibDem Scottish affairs spokesman Alistair Carmichael asked the Bank of England to rule on the status of the bits of paper issued by the Scottish banks. Governor Mervyn King replied that, at the moment, there is no legal requirement for English shops or businesses to accept Scottish notes.

Mr Carmichael said: "It is ironic that many shops and businesses in London have signs indicating that they will accept euros but at the same time continue to refuse Scottish bank notes."

Until Scottish money receives parity, there are two ways of approaching this problem. The first is, when you are going to England, leave your Scottish money at home. Get Bank of England currency out of the cash machines, have no hassle, and live with the inherent slur on your nation.

The second is to load your wallet with guid Scots money, go to England, and get involved in economic and cultural warfare. Inevitably, at some point a trader will decline to accept your Clydesdale Bank Robbie Burns fiver, Mary Slessor tenner, or Robert the Bruce £20 note.

You must realise that you are fighting a lost cause but you can have a bit of fun. Adopt a suitable accent for the debate. A rough Glasgow burr is good. Or a refined "Look here, my good man" Morningside supercilious tone is effective. Or really enjoy yourself and do it all in Sean Connery: "Shurely you musht accshept my Shcottish shterling."

You could point out to the trader that the present British prime minister and chancellor of the exchequer are both Scottish but this is likely to fall on stony ground as the English are still unhappily chafing under the yoke of the Scottish Raj.

They will be equally unimpressed to learn that the bloke on their very own English £20 note is Adam Smith, the Scottish economist.

You will not win the argument but you can resort to some economic sabotage. One ploy is to enter a bar and order several pints of Guinness. The barman refuses to accept your Scottish money. You walk out. The pub is left with a quantity of poured but unsold black stuff.

I pursued similar tactics when attempting to buy a pub lunch in Pimlico. I placed my order. My bit of fish was being cooked and the bottle of white wine was opened but my offer to pay in pounds Scots was in vain. I had no option but to leave and wish them luck in selling the fish and wine to some other customer.

There are other possible solutions. Vote for independence and get used to changing your Scottish currency (that will be the notes with the aforementioned Sean Connery on) into English notes.

Or vote for a British party that will take the UK into the euro.

CLIMATE change will mean all change for Scotland's wildlife, according to a Mr Arthur Martin, chief outdoor chap for the National Trust for Scotland.

The ptarmigan, for example, is going to be in ptrouble as its mountain-top environment changes. On the other hand, the new slightly warmer Scotland will become home to flocks of English nuthatches. (Or whatever is the collective noun for English nuthatches. I put my research assistant Master Wiki-Google on the case and he came up with "a futility of nuthatches" which sounds unlikely.) But I digress. The focus of my wildlife concern today is the polar bear, that cuddly predator to be found in the Arctic circle as well as on top of a Fox's glacier mint. With the Arctic melting faster than the ice in a preprandial gin and tonic, the bears will soon be homeless.

If Scotland can become home to futilities of English nuthatches, then we can surely welcome the polar bear.

It strikes me that East Kilbride would be an ideal place for the relocation. The Lanarkshire former village has experience coping with immigrants, though these were mostly bears from Glasgow.

Dear old EK, especially on its upper slopes, is certainly cold enough for polar bears. I know this from once having been a resident. I know this because I would have perished many a time waiting for a bus if it had not been for the regular patrols of St Bernard dugs with their little barrels of brandy reviving the frost-bitten and hypothermic.

I may be lying about the St Bernards but, honestly, many an EK resident has gone missing after telling their family, Captain Oates-style: "I am just popping out to the Bonnie Prince Charlie pub for a pint. I may be some time." They walk out into the blizzard and are never seen again.

Polar bears are mainly Canadian so they should find East Kilbride a bit more interesting than their own country. I am concerned, however, that the local council may not be able to provide sufficient suitable housing or indeed swimming pools.

Another problem might be access to the polar bear's food of choice. I am not sure that the EK Morrisons or Sainsbury carry much in the way of ringed seals, walrus, beluga whale or bowhead whale carcasses in their frozen food sections.

On reflection, the beach at Aberdeen may be a more suitable location for our big white furry asylum seekers. I had a holiday there one Glasgow Fair and it was certainly cold enough for a fur coat.

There would be more chance of dining on a bearded seal or a walrus or, more likely, a seabird garnished with kelp, to which the polar bears are apparently also partial.

Be sure, wherever they might settle, these Arctic refugees are welcome. They are all Jock Tamson's bears.

I HAVE finally made the transition to digital audio broadcasting. It is just the DAB. Better, even, than the cat's whiskers which, to explain to younger readers, is how we used to get radio in the old days.

My first attempt, some time ago, at going digital was not a success. I bought a DAB receiver from Comet in Partick. When I got home, I could only get reception if I stood on a chair in the bedroom holding the advanced piece of technology above my head.

I took the device back to the store but the sales assistant was reluctant to give a refund. The poor reception was not their fault, he said. I pointed out that the radio did not work, even in their own store.

He said it would work, "down there in the far corner". I said fine, I would just come and sit in the far corner of their shop whenever I wanted to listen to the radio. He agreed to the refund.

But digital radio has obviously improved since then. Santa bestowed a new DAB upon me and it works. I get beautiful, crystal clear reception (without the use of crystals).

I now get hosts of new radio stations, unfortunately populated with far too many programme hosts who spout utter tosh. Just like satellite and cable telly, you get scores more stations and channels with very few of them worth tuning into.

I find the DAB box useful for listening to BBC Radio 7 which consists of repeats of classic programmes. So, here I am using 21st-century technology to hear the Light Programme. Specifically Round The Horne, a 1960s comedy with Kenneth of that ilk and Kenneth Williams and sundry other amusingly radio rental characters.

The flexibility of digital radio should offer more choice. I would quite like to see the advent of BBC Radio Scotland 2. Unlike the parent station, it would have no music, no phone-ins, no football, and no news programmes that last for two hours.

It would be replete with book adaptations, drama, documentaries, and unashamedly heavyweight discussions. It would also have loads of contemporary comedy. We could even get that fellow Fred MacAulay, who is so funny on Radio 4, to do a show.