During the colder winter days of my childhood, my mother felt that we kids needed a warming breakfast before being sent out to catch our latest virus at school.
For this, she typically turned to a burly Scotsman in a kilt and a vest, somewhat incongruously preparing for a spot of early morning shot putting (maybe as the result of strength drawn from devouring his own hot breakfast?).
I’m not sure quite how effective Mum’s strategy was – I do recall having quite a few colds during my schooldays – but there was something strangely reassuring about the big man’s presence at the breakfast table.
Now I don’t know if Scott’s Porage Oats are any better than other porridge brands, but it does feel somehow more authentic to me in a spartan, windswept kind of way.
Amusingly, the brand also adopts a rather combative Scottish approach to the spelling of its name – “Why should we spell ‘porridge’ the English way? We’re Scottish and we’ll spell it however we damn well please. You can shove your namby-pamby southern spelling where the sun don’t shine”
Having arrived back in the UK at Easter, it is hopefully a few months yet before the cold winter months set in, but I dare say when they do, I will once again turn my attentions to that old friend from the Highlands.