You know you’re an expatriated Scot in Bermuda when:
• you regularly lament the lack of chip shops.
• you were forwarded the article about the Buckfast ban in Bermuda by everyone you know at home.
• you regularly make a special trek to Lindo’s, even if you live nowhere near it, just to pick up supplies of Irn Bru and Tunnock’s Teacakes.
• you smirk to yourself when anyone complains about the Bermuda weather when there is a three-minute downpour.
• you regularly have to explain your vocabulary because nobody knows what numpty, eejit or square-go means.
• even if you normally hate the Proclaimers, Runrig, Deacon Blue, Big Country, etc, you feel a swell of pride when they are played in a Bermuda bar.
• regardless of how long you’ve lived here, you turn into some sort of half-human/half-lobster creature for the first few weeks of summer.
• when someone mentions “Sunday breakfast” you think of square sausages and black pudding before codfish and potatoes.
• you think of House of India as a taste of home.
• you lie when anyone asks you what’s in haggis.
• you get tired of people asking where in Ireland you’re from.
