How should we huv tae speak English when we're no?

Our language should be called Scottish. There are probably hunners of reasons why we should not drop the name English but I can't think of any.

A good reason to use the name Scottish is that it would focus attention on Scotland as a separate international brand. Another good reason is that we are Scottish and not English.

When Alex Salmond stands up at Holyrood and announces that, henceforth, Scottish is the official language, it will not be a case of Eck Saumon staunin' up tae mac siccar we pit fyrst the Scots leid. God bless those who wish to preserve the auld braid Scots tung, but that is not how we speak or write.

Our language will be the modern Scottish, which at times will look and sound very like English but is different. In a few decades time, people will be asking: "English, now is that a dialect of Scottish or is it a separate language?"

The first task is for us Scots to overcome the cringe factor about speaking in our own accent and with our own vocabulary. We don't huv tae talk pan loaf.

We may have to set up a Scottish Language Commission to rule on important issues. This commission is gonnae huv to decide, for instance, if youse is the plural of you. First, the commission is gonny huv to decide how to spell gonnae.

I look forward to the day the word gonny takes its rightful place in the international lexicon along with s'il vous plait, por favor and please.

Any roads, why should we call what we speak and write English? Sure, it came from the Angles but they were Germans really. Apparently, in 13-canteen or some other date in the dim and distant, some folk escaping the Norman invaders emigrated up here from Northumberland and brought their Middle Inglis with them. So, it could be worse. We could be speaking Geordie, hinny.

Since the Middle Inglishers supplanted our old Celtic tongue, many rich influences have been involved in moulding the Scottish language. The ashet pie, from the French word assiette. Tapas from the Spanish word tapas. Chapatis from the Indian subcontinent. The single fish from the Italian tradition.

The phrase single fish reminds me that Scottish has its own vibrant form of rhyming slang. You would have to be potted heid or corn beef not to be aware of this form of verbal communication.

Our rhyming slang is not as well-known as the Cockney or English variety. But it has been the subject of an academic treatise, A Wee Keek At Scottish Rhyming Slang by Antonio Lillo of the department of applied modern languages at Alicante University.

It would be interesting to hear Lillo's views on whether we should abandon the label English. Especially since he is from Alicante, where they have two official languages, Spanish and Alacant.

I did phone the prof, but he wisnae in. Mibbe he wis oot doon the boozer huvvin a pint o' Mick Jagger.

We seem to have digressed slightly here. Back to the topic of rich influences, we have the Gaelic which gave us whisky and ceilidh. As we develop and nurture the Scottish, we should encourage more words of this ilk. For instance, I like the word strupach. I'm not sure how to spell it but I'm pretty sure it means a wee cup of tea and a sandwich. In modern Scottish, there is no reason why we cannot greet each other with: "Camera high (or however you spell the Gaelic greeting), d'ye fancy a strupach?"

Then there are the contributions from the Glaswegian, Doric, Ayrshire, Edinburgh Scots, Dundonian, Borders, Fife, Shetland, Orcadian and other dialects. I could fill a whole book with examples but I will leave that to Professor Lillo.

Here is one example, from an Ayrshireman of my acquaintance who is a master of the pithy phrase. "Monza nerse," he is wont to say. This is not a reference to the Formula 1 race track. He is, in fact, saying "maun's an erse", indicating that some fellow or other is not the full shilling. Any examination of the differences between English and Scottish usage should involve the word "how".

"How do you want your money?" an English bank teller might ask a Scottish customer who is making a withdrawal. "What the feck has it got to do with you?" replies the Scot, annoyed at being asked the reason for taking the cash out of the account.

Ask me: "How do you want Scottish independence?" I might reply: "How no?" Or I might say: "I want Scottish independence through an amicable process with Westminster, preferably one which includes a backdating into the Scottish exchequer of all revenues accrued this and last century from North Sea oil."

Self-determination is not just about ile and economics. Speaking up for Scottish is also about our literary traditions, from Sir David Lindsay via Hugh MacDiarmid to James Kelman, above. Which brings us to a reasonably topical point.

I see in the English newspapers that Kelman is the only "Briton" nominated for the Man Booker international literary prize. When K*lm*n (as we call him in the Doublet Bar) won the Booker prize in 1994 with How Late It Was, How Late, one of the English judges stormed out complaining that his book contained a surplus of earthy language and, worse, was written in Glaswegian. Now Kelman is flying the flag for Britain.

I don't blame the English or anyone else for not being too keen on, or for being put off by, Scottish, spoken or in print. I blame the lack of status for Scottish on King James VI of Scotland who b*ggered (literally) off to London in 1603 abandoning Scotland and the language. I blame those other Scotsmen on the make, the parcel of rogues in 1707 who shut down the Edinburgh parliament where Scots was spoken.

We can undo this treachery. Choose Scotland, choose Scottish, as Irvine Welsh might say. Or, to use a modern Scottish word, let's go for the full bhoona.

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