We imagine the whole world knows about Scotland and its distinctive culture and history. Most of all, we’re quite sure foreigners understand what distinguishes us from the English.
We’re kidding ourselves. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, if you're Scottish, you’re from England.
There will be unforgettable moments for sure. The Rome Games stand out for me because they provided me with one of my earliest sporting memories: the dramatic emergence from the evening darkness of the marathon winner, the barefooted Ethiopian Abebe Bikila.
The last Government's planning (or lack of) was certainly grossly incompetent. They expected 15,000 arrivals when the East European countries joined the EU in 2004. The actual number was over half a million!
Labour’s refusal to put restrictions on the numbers - as most other EU countries did – was ideological. It was yet another sad example of its adoption of Tory policies.
New Labour’s mantra under Blair, Brown and Darling was that globalisation, unhindered market forces and the free movement of workers benefit all.
This week, she's headlining Royal Ascot, following closely on Trooping The Colour, the Birthday Honours, and that Jubilee bash.
(And never forget the ever present soap opera, “Will and Kate”. It’s just one regal exaltation after another.)
But as far as Scotland is concerned, why would any self-respecting Scot want to have anything to do with the English royal family? And that includes Alex Salmond and his SNP Government.
So of course time for another Scottish football disaster. On this occasion, a 5-1 thrashing in steamy Florida at the hands of the erstwhile minnows, the USA.
You see, Scottish footballers don’t do hot weather. Maybe it’s a national characteristic.
Personally, I keep well away from the sun. When, for some reason, I come into contact with its rays, I turn beetroot red. Then I bleed. No intermediate stages.
No soft shades of brown or an interesting Mediterranean look. No, with me it’s beetroot red. Then blood.