DONALD, OU EST TON PANTALON?

Heartfelt congratulations to Brussels' very own Zoe of My Boyfriend is a Twat who has just won the Bloggie for BEST EUROPEAN BLOG for the third year in a row! Round of applause!! Round of drinks! Well done everybody! (Oh my God she'll be perfectly insufferable now). Honestly, it's quite an achievement, I don't think any other Bloggie winners have ever done the hat-trick. And no other blogger has achieved such renown for just talking about her Twat. Apart from Girl with a One-Track Mind, of course.

Angus McSporran is taking me to Paris this weekend for the France-Scotland rugby match. We are also going to drop in at the annual "Ecosse à Montmartre" festival, which has been running for some years now, and is very popular with the French, especially as it is timed to coincide with the Frog-Jock clash during the Six Nations. The sight of a pipe band marching through the Place du Tertre and the subsequent "battle of the bands" with various Breton and other traditional French groups has to be worth the train fare. Luckily, it being France, there'll be plenty of cheese handy to stick in my ears. There are also going to be Celtic drummers dressed up as extras from Highlander. It'll make a change from the 11th century Irish chieftain I keep bumping into here at the Belgian carnivals.

On Friday evening I am invited to a very posh Caledonian evening at Montmartre Town Hall. I shall be sporting the formal evening attire of the White Heather Club ladies. Over my white organza ballgown I shall be sporting a sash of the McSporran tartan and a sprig of heather in my tam-o'-shanter. I have been rehearsing the Gay Gordons for the inevitable ceilidh - I am all a flutter at the thought of all those men in traditional Scottish dress tartan. Scottish formal receptions are the only ones you'll go to where the men look better than the ladies. I have a weakness for a man in a kilt. There's something devastatingly attractive about Celtic men, but especially Scots. Think Sean Connery. Think John Hannah. Think Robert Carlyle. Think Ewan McGregor. Think Hamish Clark (Duncan from "Monarch of the Glen"). Think that bloke who sings with The Blue Nile. What is it about them? Is it their great hairy sporrans, or their mighty cabers and the way they toss them? Angus is not in the Sean Connery league, but he has a certain Rab C Nesbitt quality which is rather endearing.

Not a lot of people know this, but my grandfather was actually a Scot, from a small town near Glasgow called Gore Balls, which I believe was a rather select area. Or at least the people who lived there were very sought-after. He was head hunted at a very young age and left to seek his fortune in America, where he did well promoting Scotch whisky to the New Yorkers between 1920 and 1933. I attribute my flawless complexion to my Caledonian and Celtic roots, with a little help from Estée Lauder, whose husband Harry was quite popular in the Scottish music halls back in the day.

The restaurants of Montmartre will be serving Scottish fare during the whole week - I can assure you that I once witnessed a group of Parisian food buyers brought to their knees in admiration by top quality Scottish grub. I'm very partial to a sliver of oak-smoked salmon and prime Angus beef, especially washed down with a nice Chateauneuf-du-Pape. There will also be tasting of whiskies in various watering holes. I shall be partaking of a Laphroiag or two and conversing fluently with other rugby fans in their native dialect. My fluency in Scots comes mainly from the poems of Robert Burns and the novels of Irvine Welsh.

After the Scottish XV have followed in the footsteps of their English cousins and thrashed the French on Saturday afternoon, up on the hill there will be fun and frolics. A number of Scottish designers have been invited to participate, and I am particularly looking forward to a fashion show by 21st Century Kilts, whose trendy leather and see-through PVC kilts will be modelled by six French amateur rugby players, who I am assured will be wearing the kilts in the traditional manner. I'd better have a wee dram before I go to that, to steady my nerves.

And while I'm singing their praises, here are two more reasons to love oor pals awa' over the border: