Just joking. But the Scots do have a reputation for being frugal, don't they? I should know. My ancestors were of Scottish heritage and we were all well schooled in the art of reduce, reuse, recycle and jumping fences.

One wet day, for example, when I was a kid on the farm, my dad gave me a tin of bent nails to straighten out so he could built a fence with some old palings. Nothing was ever wasted in our household.  

The Scots really have turned the skill of frugal living into an art form. Their ability to extend the life of a one the pound note is legendary, with several rare species of moth surviving for centuries in that dark, undisturbed habitat that abounds among the unopened wallets of Scotland.

Apparently most houses in Scotland are double glazed. Not to keep out the cold, as you would imagine, but to ensure their kids can't hear the ice-cream truck when it comes along the street.

There is tale of a Scot who called in to see his neighbour stripping the wallpaper from the walls.

"Decorating, are you Mac?" asked the neighbour.

"Ney Laddie, moving house."

Apparently the other good trick Scots have when moving into a new house is to roll up the carpet and store it in the garage. Carpet lasts so much longer that way.

In an Edinburgh pub, a couple of workmates were having their regular afternoon double malt, when Jock told his mate Jimmy he had a dilemma and needed his advice.

"I have my choice of two women," he said, "a beautiful, penniless young lassie whom I love dearly, and a filthy rich, randy old widow I can't stand."

"Follow your heart Jock, marry the girl you love," was Jimmy's advice.

"I suppose you are right, Jimmy," conceded Jock, "that's probably the wisest choice."

"By the way," asked Jimmy, quickly throwing down the last of his whisky and preparing to bolt out of the door, "where does that old widow live?"

A Scotsman and Englishman and an Irishman had just lined up three beers when a fly landed in each drink. The Pom refused to drink his and ordered another. The Irishman just blew the fly off in a cloud of froth and continued drinking. But the Scotsman carefully lifted the fly out by its wings and held it over the glass.

"Go on," he said. "Spit it oot, ya wee bastard."

Let us finish with a delightful yarn about a Scottish soldier who marched into a chemist shop, reached into his sporran and pulled out a neatly folded silk handkerchief. He carefully unfolded the handkerchief to reveal a condom. This condom had a number of patches on it. The chemist held up the condom to the light and eyed it critically.  

"How much to repair it?" the Scot asked.

"Sixpence," said the chemist.

"How much for a new one?"

"Ten pence," said the chemist.

The Scot painstakingly folded the condom back into the silk handkerchief and placed it carefully in his sporran, before marching out of the door, shoulders back and kilt swinging.

A moment or two later the chemist heard a great shout go up outside, then immediately the Scottish soldier marched back into the chemist shop with a grin on his face.

"The regiment has taken a vote," said the Scot chirpily. "We'll have a new one."

Enjoy Brigadoon – a brilliant idea hatched four decades ago by a very smart young local bloke who recognised many Scots living in Australia would enjoy visiting the misty Southern Highlands to listen to bagpipes, sip a dram and have a nostalgic taste of home once a year.