I’VE been told a few times by people who don’t like the things I write about politics that I’m not Scottish, or not Scottish really, but I’m pretty sure I am: my Uncle George traced the family tree all the way back and it was Scottish, Scottish, Scottish. Sorry.

But maybe, to be sure, I should do the whole DNA thing and determine whether I am actually, scientifically Scottish. It would mean I could then have an opinion on Scottish independence.

But would I like what I find? Rod Liddle said in his Spectator column the other day that he’d done his DNA and found he was mostly Scottish. One moment, he said, he was a “decent, solid, Englishman” only to discover he was actually a “chippy, grasping, salad-dodging smackhead who is unable to define the term ‘woman’.”

I didn’t find what Liddle wrote particularly funny I have to say, but I get that he’s joking: I’m Scottish, why wouldn’t I? We Scots – especially Scots like me who can trace our heritage back to the beginning of time – have a wonderful sense of humour. Not only can we laugh at the stereotypes about Scotland, ha, we can listen to criticism of our country calmly and not get upset or touchy about it, ha.

Mark Smith: A glimpse into the future of hate in Scotland

I also know the English can take a joke as well, which you wouldn’t necessarily expect of arrogant, beer-bellied cockle-munchers who are unable to get to the end of a sentence World Cup 1966. I suppose you see what I’m trying to do, don’t you? I’m trying to establish that the Scots and the English occasionally trade cliches about each other and sometimes it’s funny and usually it’s no big deal so we move on.

And anyway, we’re missing the bigger point here, which is that the real problem for Rod Liddle, or me, or lots of other people, isn’t being Scottish or English, it’s being British. If I did do a DNA test, what I’d really like it to show is that I’m a bit Scottish but a bit English and Welsh too – at least that way I might be better able to get a grip on what it is to be British and what I think about it. Help me, I’m British.

The problem, I think, is that something I took for granted, or at least didn’t think about much until 2014, is now more uncertain a concept than it once was. Certainly, the polls and censuses seem to show more and more Scots saying they’re Scottish and not British, even though that isn’t actually possible – those Scots are British whether they like it or not and I’m sure they would laugh about it if I pointed that out to them on Twitter.

But in a way, what people say in the opinion polls and censuses does touch on something vital, which is that British nationality is harder to get your head round than the Scottish and English varieties, and is therefore easier to shrug off. Partly, this is because Britain, as a union made up of several nations, is a rather weird creation and not a country in the traditional sense.

The second issue is that a sense of Britishness partly relies on softer concepts such as politics, culture, music, and so on. In the 70s, we all watched the same stuff on telly (good and bad – a lot of it bad) but the big shows made in London by the BBC these days say nothing to me about my life.

Mark Smith: Beware of the next big trend – Scremorse

The political situation is also a challenge. Didn’t we feel more British in ‘97 when Labour won in every part of the UK? And wasn’t John Prescott awkwardly dancing to D:Ream’s Things Can Only Get Better on election night the most British thing you’ve ever seen? Other than Mr Prescott wrestling a man on a low wall in Rhyl after punching him in the face of course.

Which makes me wonder if the same could happen again. Johnson. May. Truss. Sunak. Starmer. Maybe what Britishness needs is Labour. Or maybe too much has changed already. Maybe those Scots who say they’re not British have been lost forever, even under Labour. Maybe I shouldn’t care about this stuff so much. Maybe I should try and laugh it off. Ha.