It was one of those days. Reluctantly, Paula had dragged her weans (she’d heard the weegies call them that for years) on to the ferry at Wemyss Bay to go and visit her Nonna in her pensioner’s house on Rothesay. Nonna Maria at the ripe old age of 72, had such a magnetic personality that she still drew everyone to her. The island, so renowned for it’s gelaterie and summer tourism, had spewed forth it’s young folk into the bosom of the mainland during the 90’s in their own quest for a future. Paula looked forward to seeing Nonna, and making sure she remained a central part in her own children’s lives. Toni kicked Giorgio, he figured she was too busy hustling her 6 shopping bags into the lift behind them to see the twins’ altercation. “Basta!!”, she said rather loudly to them, as the lift doors swished shut behind them. The twins looked at the floor. It was their first time on the ferry to visit Bisnonna, no one else they knew had a great gran, she must be very old, even older than Mrs Doig their nursery teacher. They managed to reach the passenger lounge uneventfully and sat quietly, fidgeting with their Nintendos as the ferry began moving through the water. They had a good look around through the windows while mama read her latest Kindle download. Typical four-year-olds, they were fidgeting and poking each other under the table, until… it couldn’t be!… It looked like it!… It is!… Stereo pre-school age trebles, began uncontrollably shrieking, “Balamory! Balamory!”, and climbed over everyone to get a good view as we came into the pier. Paula went red, smiled shyly and grabbing her bags and bambini, and headed off into the crowd for her family reunion. Leaving us all with a good laugh and yet another sickening self-perpetuating Scottish stereotype.
(Prompts: stereotype map)
by Elizabeth Ann Woods