Ban Cheap Kilts And Save Our Heritage
Feb 26 2008 Bob Shields
WHEN is a kilt not a kilt? The answer - according one MEP - is when you buy it in Lidl... and get enough change out of 30 quid for a case of Lithuanian lager.
Good luck to the SNP's Alyn Smith, who wants our national dress protected from foreign imports by European law. I think he'll need it.
For the kilt to join Camembert Cheese, Parma Ham and Champagne on the EEC's "protected label" list, he's going to have to prove that the kilt is a generic Scottish garment.
Alyn says he's going to be "banging on doors in Brussels to make this happen".
But when you consider the kilt's origins have been claimed by everyone from the Chinese to the Cornish, he's going to have an awful sore hand for a long time.
The traditionalists are right to point out that "genuine" kilts are eight yards of Scottish woollen cloth, woven by experts and hand-stitched in Scotland.
But they also cost in the region of £400 - and that's a lot of wedge to fork out for something that only gets worn at weddings and a Burns Supper.
You can't blame some Scots for seeking a cheaper alternative. Or tourists wanting a "fun kilt" to ponce about in at parties from Toronto to Tokyo.
But rather than protect our tartan industry by appealing to the law courts, why not take the simpler and cheaper route of appealing to Scotland's good taste.
Cheap kilts look exactly that - like cheap kilts.
The man who made my lightweight kilt for the New York marathon, Howie Nicholsby, says cheapo kilts look like "dish towels". And he's right.
Iwouldn't be seen dead in one, but mind you I have been mistaken for dead in my kilt after some Scotland games.
My kilt was made by Kinloch-Anderson, the bespoke Edinburgh firm who have been making them for so long they still have Moses' waist size on file.
It's got my name on the label, its own serial number and more Royal warrants than a Ballater baker's shop.
But more than anything, it's got history.
It was the first kilt ever in the Stade de France in Paris - they let me in to the half-built stadium the day after the World Cup draw in December 1997.
It's surfed on the waves of Sydney's Bondi and thrilled the bikini-clad beauties of Rio's Copacabana beach. And a geezer offered me two camels for it in Marakesh.
If my kilt could talk, a tabloid newspaper would buy it up for £20,000.
It's been sat on, spat on and sha . . . (we get the message Shields - Ed).
You could open a cocktail bar with every kind of drink that's been spilled over it.
But every time it emerges from the cleaner, it looks just like the day I got.
Mind you, these dry cleaning fluids don't half shrink the waistband over the years.
Our tartan industry should be selling a real kilt's strong points rather than attacking a tartan dish cloth's weak points.
How about "A kilt isn't just for Christmas, it's for life"?
Or has someone used that line already?
As for quality, there is one quick way of testing if a kilt is the real thing.
Bend down next to a kilt wearer with a cigarette lighter and gently apply the flame to the material.
If this is quickly followed by a blow to your groin with a Timberland boot, it's the real thing alright.
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