Not far from my original home then.... Finland
Spent last ten years out of there mostly though, 6 in Oz, 2 in UK, 1 in Greece but still, pure flying Finn!

I've just come down from the Isle of Skye,
I'm no' very big and I'm awful shy,
And the lassies shout when I go by,
"Donald where's your troosers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"

A lassie took me to a ball
And it was slippery in hall,
And I was feared that I would fall,
For I had nae on ma troosers.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"

Now I went down to London town
And I had some fun in the Underground,
The ladies turned their heads around,
Saying, "Donald, where are your trousers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"

To wear the kilt is my delight,
It is not wrong, I know it's right,
The Highlanders would get a fright
If they saw me in the trousers.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"

The lassies want me, every one,
Well, let them catch me if they can,
Ye canna take the breeks off a Hieland man,
And I don't wear the troosers.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?
Donald, where's your troosers?
Donald, where's your troo---"

[Spoken] Och well, that's the way we sing the song in Scotland. But of course the song might have more international appeal sung something like this: one, two, three, four:

[As Elvis]
Well, I've just come down from the Isle of Skye,
I'm no' very big and I'm awful shy,
The lassies shout when I go by,
"Hey Donald, where's your troosers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Go, go!
Donald, where's your troosers?"

Oh man, I'm all rock and roll,
And I'm a-movin' and a-groovin' to save my soul,
Grab your kilt and go, go, go!
Hey Donald, where's your troosers?

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
Oh yeah, go, go, go!
Hey Donald, where's your troosers?
Hey Donald, where's your troosers, yeah.
Hey Donald---

[Spoken]
[As himself] Hey, just a minute! What are you doing there?
[As Elvis] Man, I'm rockin' it, man, I'm really movin' it, man.
[As himself] Well, just you stop rockin' it and movin' it, man. The song should be sung just exactly like this:

I've just come down from the Isle of Skye,
I'm no' very big and I'm awful shy,
And the lassies shout when I go by,
"Donald where's your troosers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?
Donald, where's your troosers?"

England near the border between England and Cornwall

Me from Hong Kong, Irish nationality, living in England. 'Others' is probably more appropriate for me.

Yeah! Let's gang up on these brits .. us northerners can do some serious butt-kicking once we get around to it! ;P



/Jørgen

Can other mean where you can bat for two countires

Born in Milan, Italy, but my whole family comes from Sardinia, so I'm more an Islander than a Continental (I don't even speak the Milanese dialect! )

Sing it loud and sing it proud ...



All together now ...

LAND of our birth,
gem of God's earth,
O Island so strong and so fair;
Built firm as Barool,
Thy throne of Home Rule
Makes us free as thy sweet mountain air
Ye sons of the soil,
In hardship and toil,
That plough both the land and the sea,
Take heart while you can,
And think of the Man
Who toiled by the Lake Galilee.

When fierce tempests smote
That frail little boat,
They ceased at His gentle command;
Despite all our fear,
The Saviour is near
To safeguard our dear Fatherland.

Let storm-winds rejoice,
' And lift up their voice,
No danger our homes can befall;
Our green hills and rocks
Encircle our flocks,
And keep out the sea like a wall.

Our Island, thus blest, No foe can molest;
Our grain and our fish shall increase;
From battle and sword Protecteth the Lord,
And crowneth our nation with peace.

Then let us rejoice
With heart, soul, and voice,
Ad in the Lord's promise confide;
That each single hour
We trust in His power
No evil our souls can betide.

Three Legs

I'm another OTHER. My parents decided to leave Englands northwest and go globe trotting whilst 6 months pregnant so I was born in South Africa

Bump

Why ya bumping it? Hasn't everyone who could be arsed replying already replied?

And those of us who aren't allowed due to insufficient options have already set up our own website:

www.apparentlywearenotbritish.co.uk

No.....couldn't let it go without at least one Irish voting.