Lee Randall: I may have hatched elsewhere but this bird is cuckoo for Scotland

Published on Wednesday 14 July 2010 14:38

AS The Beatles put it, there are places I remember all my life - places that I have fallen in love with, though not always at first sight.

It took more than a month for me to tumble for Durham, in Northumberland, but when I did, there was no turning back. I'd already been there some weeks, hiking back and forth to the college where I was billeted the year I was an exchange student, into city centre, for my classes.

I'd practically worn a groove in Prebends Bridge, and spent many minutes on the spot where they shot the postcard, re-reading Sir Walter Scott's words, inscribed there on a plaque: "Grey towers of Durham/Yet well I love thy mixed and massive piles/Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot." (How ironic, now!)

Despite this, the most I could say was that I was fond of the place: it hadn't burrowed under my skin.

Then, on one of my frequent peregrinations, I wandered uphill and found South Street - an address I still long to write in the upper left-hand corner of my envelopes.

From there I looked through stark black winter branches, across the river. And I was blown out of my socks, the way you are when something utterly familiar reveals itself in an entirely new way. I vividly remember running to a friend's room to announce "I've fallen in love", and being impressed by the perspicacity with which he instantly replied "With what?" not "whom?". "Durham Cathedral," was my answer.

Even earlier in life, I made a day trip from Lancaster to Edinburgh. I was only here for a few hours, but recall looking around and knowing straight away: "This is a city you could live in." (Unlike those that are marvellous tourist Meccas but resist you on the quotidian details).

How I understood that distinction, and grasped, at just 15, that it applied to Edinburgh I'll never know. Imagine my surprise when, decades later, I discovered how right my instincts had been!

Twelve and a bit years on from Durham, I discover that you've really got a hold on me, Scotland. I was in Dumfriesshire on Tuesday, watching them shoot a film. I know the area a bit, thanks to regular visits to the Wigtown Book Festival (a must for your social diaries).

It was a glorious day. The bluest skies were inhabited by wispy clouds blowing around like eiderdown. Rolling hills were covered by grass so richly hued that it would have been ideal for returfing the Emerald City, and these carpets were dotted with cows and sheep doing their ruminant best to eat several times their body weight of the stuff.

The Londoners who were my hosts for this gambol across the greensward sat with noses pressed to the glass, as our car swooped and swerved through the winding country roads. I saw drool.

And to my great surprise, I felt the biggest, goofiest surge of pride. It made me show off a bit, scanning the hillsides, hoping to spy a herd of Belted Galloways,

knowing that the site of these distinctive cows would blow what was left of their minds.

Seneca said: "Men love their country, not because it is great, but because it is their own."

I don't know who's keeping my permanent record, or where, but it will prove that I've always championed Scotland's astounding natural beauty. Yet it was the praise of one perched like a cuckoo in the nest, not of one who's grown up through the very soil.

On Tuesday I heard my heart singing out distinctly (though less eloquently than our Roman friend): "This is mine! I live here! Isn't my country beautiful?"

And people wonder why I've chosen to stay?It made me show off a bit, scanning the hillsides, hoping to spy a herd of Belted Galloways, knowing that the site of these distinctive cows would blow what was left of their minds.

Seneca said: "Men love their country, not because it is great, but because it is their own."

I don't know who's keeping my permanent record, or where, but it will prove that I've always championed Scotland's astounding natural beauty. Yet it was the praise of one perched like a cuckoo in the nest, not of one who's grown up through the very soil.

On Tuesday I heard my heart singing out distinctly (though less eloquently than our Roman friend): "This is mine! I live here! Isn't my country beautiful?"

And people wonder why I've chosen to stay?