We awoke in our household today to a pretty startling scene. One of our little boys, aged six, came running into our bedroom with only one thing on his mind: The Vote.

Seven hours earlier, at midnight, I had lifted him for his night-time pee, during which we had 30 seconds of referendum chat.

"You've got to vote No, Dad," he told me while sitting on the pan. "The man on the telly said it was 51 to 49, that only two more votes were needed. So you better vote No."

This brief chat had obviously preyed on my wee boy's mind through the night because, come 7am, and walking solemnly into our room, he looked fit to burst into tears.

In fact, he did burst into tears. "You've got to vote No!" he implored his mum and me. "It's 49-51, I heard it on the telly. Please, please vote no." Heartily greeting, he then added: "I want us to be Team GB."

Amazingly, when we outlined the various options for Yes and No, the good and bad arguments on both sides, he howled in further dismay, burying his tear-stained face in a pillow.

I was gobsmacked. What conceivable implications of this referendum day in Scotland could so prey on the mind of a six-year-old? "Robbie, you're a future politician," his mum told him.

Two hours later, on a crisp, beautiful, autumnal morning in Ayrshire I was on my bike, my ballot card tucked in my back pocket, making my way into our local village to cast my vote.

On the way I passed ripe, juicy brambles hanging in lip-smacking bunches, and vowed to come back later for them.

Once at the village hall, there was no going back. This was it. Despite being "for the Union" all my life, in recent weeks, like thousands of Scots, I had thought anew about the Yes and No arguments, and found my position shifting somewhat.

I've been one of Scotland's estimated 350,000 "waiverers", although I'm not sure I would quite use that term. More to the point, I'd been happy to calmly go through the issues, weighing them up right up until polling day. Amid all this revision I'd set myself until this very morning to reach a clear, firm voting intention.

Outside the polling booth, in a scene surely replicated right across Scotland, men and women were gathered in discussion, both "sides" being represented by stickers, hats and flags, urging you either Yes or No as you walked in.

There was no gauntlet about it. It was convivial and friendly, save for one brief outburst when someone shouted at someone else: "What you are asking us to do is betray our heritage…that's what you are doing!"

On the 10-minute bike ride into the village I had gone through the main arguments one more time in my head: the economic debate, the principle of social justice, the weighty matter of political divorce from the rest of the UK.

I duly parked my bike and went into the hall to vote, feeling quite a sense of excitement. My two wee lads had cycled in with me, and wanted to be there to witness the historic moment.

"Are wee kids allowed into the booth with you?" I asked the friendly woman behind the desk.

"Why, certainly, of course they can!" she said with a smile.

Here were the key questions for me:

*Could a competent, talented Scotland go it alone politically?

*Was there really some law of the universe which says that, while other small countries can make a success of themselves, Scotland for some reason cannot?

*The Union has worked pretty well, and at times heroically, for over 300 years…was it worth disrupting that?

Over recent weeks, I had slowly reached this conclusion: Scotland is full of strong, able, talented, compassionate people, with generations more coming through. It cannot fail.

I picked up my ballot paper and put a large, reinforced X in the appropriate box. "Look at this guys…I've done it!" I said excitedly to my wee lads.

"Is that the right box, Dad, you sure?" Robbie said to me earnestly. "That's the right box, son," I re-assured him.

Have to say, it was a thrilling moment for me. And I went later for my brambles.