The spousal unit and I made our weekly pilgrimage to the local farmer's market -- me kilted, of course -- this morning, and I found a new vendor that advertised "Celtic jewelry." I wandered over and the lady who ran the booth said to her husband, "Ian, there's a kilt for you!" Her husband greeted me in a wonderful Edinburgh accnt, and they both assured me I was at the right booth. They also readily identified my Pride of Scotland tartan, which impressed me a little bit.

We made smalltalk, and I asked him if anyone had ever identified his accent as English. He said occasionally and told me a story about a women he bumped into a few weeks ago. She asked him if he was Australian, and he said no.

"English?"

"No, I'm from the wee country just to the north of England."

Pause.

"New Zealand?"