Bunked off my Italian class this morning to watch Andy Murray play Rafael Nadal in the Australian Open and what a good decision that was. It was a great match. Murray won the first set in the tie-break and was 4 - 1 up in the second when he lost the plot. He came back strongly to win the third but then failed to capitalise on a significant number of breakpoints especially in the early games of the fifth set but all in all he played a stormer. Given that two years ago we had never heard of him his rise in the rankings has been phenomenal. Surely at some point in the near future he's going to be the first home grown Wimbledon winner since the ice age.

Back in the rehearsal room our one-act is coming on. Everyone has a pretty reasonable grasp of the lines and we've got various props out to help the action. For an ex-smoker blowing rather than sucking to produce smoke from an imitation fag takes a little bit of getting used to. Of course I failed at one point yesterday and got a mouthful of cotton wool and some obnoxious powder.

Failed too to see a documentary about Leonard Cohen after the rehearsal. It was sold out by the time I got there. That's the second time this week I've missed a film. Clearly need to do a bit more in the advance planning line.

I got some Labour party junk mail today. It was pretty self congratulatory in tone throughout as these things tend to be. For example they beat their breasts with satisfaction at reported praise for Lothian buses. Not sure to what extent the Labour party has played a part in providing our good bus services but if they have, all credit to them. It set me musing a little. It may be a great service but they have the weirdest shift patterns. Is it that my natural travel rhythms match driver changes? I was on three buses yesterday and on each occasion experienced a change of driver. Such a 100% hit rate is unusual but I suspect that my daily average is around 50%. What's the statistical probability of that do you suppose? Is it like tossing a coin, 50/50 every time? Or like love at first sight, 100 to 1 against?

Answers on an electronic postcard please.

I thought I had better put in my tuppence worth to commemorate the passing of the Act of Union by the Scottish parliament on 16th January 1707. A lot of books have been published this year analysing the events that led to the Union, assessing the strength of opionion for and against at the time and evaluating the benefits that have or have not accrued to the two countries since. I confess that I have read none of them despite intentions to the contrary.

There is lively discussion in the media on both sides of the border about where the Union goes from here. Will the SNP win in May? Would the Scots vote for independence if it were offered? Is there an answer to the West Lothian question? Do the English want a parliament of their own?

The Scotsman has published some good stuff and they are sending a van round the country to take what they call "The Nationhood Debate" to the people. I'm planning to go to a couple of events at the university in March to hear what various luminaries have to say.

Personally I have no problem thinking of myself as Scottish, British and European more or less in that order and while I have no doubt that Scotland could thrive as an independent state I don't see independence as particularly desirable. Should we not be looking for ways to come together in the modern world rather than draw apart? Devolution has given us the opportunity to go our own way in building a society for daily life in accordance with our own values, traditions and ambitions. It seems to me that we should develop that opportunity to the full and at the same time draw from and contribute to the British state and the European Union.

The flag images came courtesy of World Atlas.

At Barbansais we have a large expanse of grass. Quality-wise it's more of a field than a lawn. You can be sure that efforts to remedy that would be frustrated by moles. Every so often we stand in dumb rage staring at their nocturnal ravages and rush off to finger the multitude of anti mole potions and devices on the DIY shop shelves. There are so many to choose from and all are declared useless by those who have tried them. According to neighbours strychnine soaked worms are the only sure solution although one friend swears by clobbering them with bricks.

You can imagine then how much I sympathise with the poor German chap who electrocuted himself this week when he connected a high voltage power supply to a row of metal stakes that he had driven into the heart of the moles' galleries. In case you get the wrong impression it wasn't our moles he was after.

Some years ago I was kept awake by grey squirrels running around in my loft. It took months and the failure of lots of cunning catching devices before the problem was solved by blocking every orifice with inedible glass fibre to keep them out. It was illegal to kill them so even if you did catch them you had to let them go and of course they would just make their way back into your nice cosy loft. I've loathed the little creatures ever since.

I was surprised then, but pleased, when gunshots around the cottage I was in with friends near Hawick turned out to be the local gamekeeper exterminating grey squirrels. It seems that if you are in an area where red squirrels are being driven out by grey ones you can kill the little beasts. I call that enlightened. I wonder if there's a bounty?

Back in the land of culture and refinement the mini movie I appear in in Charmaine's pursuit of a Bafta (well a sort of mini Bafta) is now on the web. Go to Bafta 60 Seconds and browse the film gallery (Scottish region) to marvel at "Cold" by Yerkelmarr. The comments viewers have left are at least as entertaining as the film.

If the film seems short don't worry she's planning a "director's cut" and these as I'm sure you know are always much longer, and naturally much more satisfying - for the director at least.

I had a very pleasant few days in the Borders with some old school friends. We've got into the habit of meeting up every so often. Sometimes just for a meal, sometimes for a couple of days, and most elaborately a year or so ago for a week together in Croatia.

We did nothing very active. Most of our time was spent loafing about the house drinking and chatting. The girls inspected various cashmere outlets and I found myself, after a disappointing visit to Hawick's Saturday market (more of a car boot sale) having a potter around the town with Bob and Caroline that included factory shop visits. They bought a few things but despite being sorely tempted by some of Pringle's delightful golf shirts I resisted. I must sneak back sometime when the budget allows.

One evening we ate a good dinner, served in a warm, comfy dining-room by friendly staff at the Mansfield House Hotel. The place seemed to be empty apart from us. Let's hope that this was unusual else they'll be out of business before long and I can't think that they deserve that.

I got back to Edinburgh on Sunday in time to start rehearsing Work In Progress. It's the Grads entry for the SCDA One Act Festival. The most exciting thing about the rehearsal for me was that I discovered that the one member of the cast I didn't know was the daughter of a girl I was at school with. One of those small world moments.

I've been trying to post since I came back from Keswick after Christmas but Blogger has been out of action. It's up and running this morning but I'm off to Hawick shortly for a few days with some school chums so there's no time to write much.

Let me just wish anyone who reads this a Happy New Year and leave you with a picture of the Lake District countryside that I was able to take on the one day the mist rose above ground level.