Half man, half shortbread?

I spent Wednesday afternoon with my mother, something that I haven't done for an awfully long time - almost certainly far too long. And no, she's perfectly well, her faculties are still in fine working order, and she's no crazier than she's ever been (in truth, she's probably one of the sanest people I know).

It was fun. We drank tea, put the world to rights (she's not a huge fan of Nick Clegg, I must note) and talked about family stuff. I got fed at regular intervals and agreed that we should do this more often - we're not a family that demonstrates its affection on its sleeve, and organising get-togethers is not something we're great at.

However, as I was getting ready to head back to Mid Suffolk, there was something unexpected to see. Some old family photographs of my maternal great grandfather and great grandmother have turned up, dating back to 1909, taken at a photographer's studio in either Keith or Dufftown. For those of you who don't know either, they are in Banffshire, between Aberdeen and Inverness, the home of some of the finest Scotch whisky to be found anywhere.

Whilst my mother was born in Keith, I had assumed that this was merely an accident of timing, as my grandparents moved the family to East Sussex within a year of her birth. And as we don't really talk about the dead, the family history has gone uncommented upon. So, the fact that my mother's grandparents were from Craigellachie indicates that I might be rather more Scots than I had thought.

And yes, there is a clan - Gordon - and a tartan, a relatively tasteful one too.

This may explain the instinctive liberalism, the somewhat conservative personal morality and my broad non-conformist streak in. Indeed, it implies that whilst I've got my father's looks, I could have my mother's philosophical outlook. Which begs the question, might liberalism be genetic?
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