Meh faither dehd lest year. When he wis in the hospital, eh drove ees car, goin the messages for meh mum, takkin her up and doon tae Ninewells tae visit him. Eh’d drove it afore. This time it wis different.

It wisnae a flash car. It got ye fae A tae B, as lang as A wisnae aa that far fae B. A bit like meh puir dad, it had seen better days.

He micht hae been lehin in the ward but eh could hear him lood and clear. ‘You’re ridin the clutch! Indicate! Careful!’ It wis stull his space eh wis in, his car.

He aye said he wis as Irish as the pigs o Docherty, and sae were aa ees CDs. Sae eh pit ees car radio on, hopin tae get the build-up tae the big Euro qualification matches happenin that weekend. But the dial wis stuck, forever tuned tae meh dad’s radio station o choice, RTÉ. Or tae gie hit it’s proper name, ORR-TEE-EE.

Sae eh’m drehvin aboot Dundee, the toun whar tens o thoosands o Irish came for work and a better life. Meh faither wis ane o them, his brither and auntie tae. He’d come in the 1950s, met meh mither, sterted a faimlie, opened his ain business – a short sea crossin but a lang journey for a laddie pit oot beh ees ain faither tae beg on the streets o Dublin. And me, never bathered eh wis half Irish, hame tae see him for whit wid turn oot tae be the lest time, listenin for the first time tae ees blessed Irish radio. The irony, believe you me, didnae go ower meh haid.

But, ken, the drama and detail o day tae day Irish life soon got under meh skin.

Brendan O’Carroll (meh faither aye laughed uncontrollably at Mrs Brown’s Boys) helpin oot o young Irish couple robbed on their holidays. A blether wi an owner o champion sheepdoags whas accent had me turnin the soond up tae catch aathin he wis sayin. A discussion wi a former supreme coort justice aboot somethin ominously caaed “The End o Life”. The latest stooshie aboot a media tycoon wi fingirs in ower mony pehs. In-depth coverage o the Dáil. And build-up tae the Ireland-Scotland futba match, but their view o it, coverin maistly the sad daiths o twa o Robbie Keane’s cousins.

And then meh dad strugglin tae speak, sookin ees tea through a straa. Eh telt him eh’d been listenin tae the news fae his beloved Emerald Isle. “Oh aye,” he said slow-like, and that wis aboot aa eh got oot o him. It’s hard tae explain but eh felt eh wis learnin somethin new aboot meh faither, somethin that hadnae come tae me afore, juist as he wis aboot tae go.

And as eh gaed aboot Dundee wi its Yes posters still in fowks’ windaes and No stickers on some fermers’ gates ootside the toun and ORR-TEE-EE in meh lugs, eh had Scotland and Ireland bumpin in meh brenn.

Tae me, they’re the same place. There’s been that much comin and gaein atween the three countries – here, Éire and NI – that we’re each a kinna mixter-maxter o the ither.

ORR-TEE-EE is the state broadcaster for a country no aa that different fae oors. But whit struck me wis the wide reenge o voices tellin their stories on RTÉ Radio 1. Aa the accents and soonds o Ireland wis there. Aabody wis weelcome tae say their piece in their ain natural voice. Naebody wis kept oot.

Eh widnae say onybody is ever kept fae speakin on Radio Scotland and eh dae hear a fair bit o Scots on it. But does oor state broadcaster really dae aathin it can tae reflect aa the various accents and dialects o Scotland?

The Scottish prent media publishes a dose o Scots language as weel but it’s no mainstream. It’s no heh-profile. At least no until lest Thursday when The National went mad mentul and prentit the warld’s first front page entirely in Scots.

Eh wis affy prood o this newspaper for daein that. A bold historic move as brave as get-oot and gallus as Glesga. It has kick sterted a unprecedentit debate on the place o Scots in oor nation’s life.

And eh wis prood o aabody wha lowped tae the defence o the leid in the face o whit Wee Ginger Dug richtly caaed ignorance and prejudice aboot Scots still hingin aboot fae the days o aald Victoria.

Mibbe eh’m wrang. Eh usually am. But in the waarum days and lichty nichts o lest summer, eh listened in tae a country that seemed tae me linguistically at least mair at ease wi itsel than mines. Whither as pairt o the Union or as an independent nation, it really is heh time we acceptit aa the voices o aa the fowk in Scotland and no tae ever be embarrassed by ony o them.

Meh faither in life wisnae embarrassed by onythin. But he didnae get tae see the Ireland-Scotland gemme, though he wantit tae. They were re-pentin ees ward and he wis moved intae anither ane that didnae hae a telly. He wid hae liked that Ireland qualifehd for France and Scotland didnae. And wid hae laughed uncontrollably at the Paddy Power ad shown aboot Dublin that day for the Tartan Ermy’s benefit: “You may take our points, but at least we have our freedom.”

Lest time eh saa him wis on his birthday. Same day as WB Yeats’s, eh learned fae meh new favourite radio station. Leavin, eh noticed the whiteboard above ees bed in the empty ward, ees name aaready half rubbed oot. Lest time eh drove ees car wis tae pick up flooers left at the undertakers efter the funeral.

Ma brither’s got that car noo. Eh aften think o him drehvin aroond the hehweys and behweys o his life, wunderin if ee’s got the radio on.