When I describe my job as a bit like being the foreign correspondent next door, it can raise eyebrows. It’s definitely not my intention to suggest that Scotland is so bafflingly other – nor that my London newsroom is so embarrassingly ignorant of Caledonian matters – that pain-staking translation is needed. But, while a berth in Glasgow may not be as obviously foreign as a posting to Paris or Moscow or Delhi, it does share some essentials in as much as my job involves reporting a place that feels culturally as much as geographically distinct from street level.



As the Guardian’s Scotland correspondent, working alongside our Scotland editor, Severin Carrell, who is based in Edinburgh, I aim to reflect what’s concerning folk locally - when local does not mean within a two mile radius of Parliament Square – as well as what has impact nationally, or internationally. In explaining this country to the country next door, I often find myself writing about what Scotland does differently – most obviously through the ongoing divergence brought about by devolution, whether that’s the abolition of tuition fees in higher education, raising taxes for the wealthy or a new social security system that recognises welfare as a human right – as well as interrogating the impact of such policies. Free tuition has not, for example, significantly reduced the access gap for poorer students.

Over the past year or so, I can think of examples of what Scotland does differently both good and bad: whether that is Glasgow’s pioneering work on knife crime, a landmark legal ruling on rape, the country’s shocking rate of drug-related deaths, or the Scottish government’s burgeoning private finance debt.

Libby Brooks en route to the isolated bothy at Kearvaig, Cape Wrath, on Scotland’s northern coast where shepherds found Margaret Davies emaciated and starving in 2002 . She was airlifted to hospital, but died later.

Having grown up in Glasgow, I thought I understood the city I was returning to in May 2014, when I began a six-month secondment to assist Severin report the independence referendum campaign. I was wrong. Plunging into the feverish and politically complex atmosphere of the indyref was a near vertical learning curve. Four years later, after two seismic referendums and four election campaigns (two general, one Holyrood and one council), I still feel like there’s so much more to learn about this country.

Having been so immersed in the vicissitudes of Westminster when I was editing on the opinion desk back in London, I discovered an entirely different climate in Scotland. Since the summer of 2014, we’ve tracked some of the most dramatic political shifts in the country’s history, not least the increasing support for the Scottish National party, which exploded after the independence referendum, the accompanying collapse in support for Scottish Labour and later the boost in popularity for the Scottish Conservatives under the leadership of Ruth Davidson.

While it is of course essential to write with context, I’m also aware of the limits of regarding everything through the constitutional prism. Likewise, the swift and sharp online response when one is suspected of reporting in an even vaguely partisan fashion in either direction is an object lesson in the need to remain as scrupulously neutral as possible.

One thing that immediately hit me was the visibility of women – when I arrived in the summer of 2014, the political landscape was crammed with impressive females – including Davidson, the then SNP deputy, now leader and first minister, Nicola Sturgeon, Scottish Labour’s Johann Lamont, as well as strong campaigning voices like Lesley Riddoch, Jeane Freeman and Clare Lally.

I sometimes risk taking for granted the fact that Scotland’s first minister is a staunch feminist who is as comfortable offering a gender analysis of a policy as a constitutional one, or that I’ve worked with not one but two openly lesbian party leaders (Labour’s Kezia Dugdale and Davidson, who is currently on maternity leave after the birth of her first child).

Scottish Labour’s Kezia Dugdale, SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon and Ruth Davidson of the Scottish Conservatives attend the STV election debate on March 29, 2016 in Edinburgh, Scotland. Photograph: Jeff J Mitchell/Getty Images

Nonetheless, this feminisation was by no means across all sectors. I was also shocked by the lack of women reporting politics – when I first entered the media tower at the Scottish parliament, I upped the female contingent there to three. Since then more women have joined the Holyrood lobby, and with a bunch of colleagues I helped set up the networking and campaigning organisation Women in Journalism Scotland, in 2016.

One of the many reasons that I love my job is the variety: I can’t think of any other post where I’d find myself at a press conference with the first minister one day, the prime minister the next, then end the week discussing digital exclusion with a homeless outreach worker in Glasgow as the final tranche of universal credit transfers are rolled out across the city. It’s a truly privileged position to be in – to be reminded that the high politics have an impact on real lives, and to work for an organisation that will give equal weight to each story.

But with that variety comes the agony of choice. There’s so much going on across the country, it’s fair to say that Severin and I could fill our working weeks thrice over quite comfortably. Part of the role is about deciding what and how to prioritise, and judging when a story has reached a sufficient level of interest that it will appeal to a global-facing newsdesk. It can also involve acting in a more directional capacity, suggesting potential columnists to the opinion desk or events to the culture desk, or providing some Scottish texture to our UK-wide reporting, whether that’s the demise of the high street or the anti-Trump protests.

I know that readers don’t always agree with what we prioritise, and I’m always happy to hear why. In my early days on the Scotland beat I found Twitter and below the line prompts and suggestions invaluable – and occasionally face-saving (I’m looking at you Mae, Tenthred and Great Baldy).

Over the past few years there’s been a significant shift in the centre of gravity of the Guardian, as it has opened offices across the US and Australia. I’ve watched the organisation becoming more global at the same time as it has become more local. With our Manchester office, ably headed up by our northern editor Helen Pidd, boosted by a clutch of new reporters since 2015, and Steve Morris and Rory Carroll doing their brilliant reporting across Wales, the south-west of England and Ireland, including Northern Ireland, it does feel like the entirety of the British Isles is now represented through our coverage like a stick of rock.

The observant reader will note that my initial six-month secondment to Glasgow ended some time ago. The position of a second Scotland team member was made permanent in 2015, and I was utterly delighted to stay because – well, the story just kept getting better. I hope that I never take for granted the privilege of getting paid to ask interesting people (what I hope are) interesting questions and learning something new every day. Meanwhile, my toddler son is developing a broader Scottish accent than I have. Who knows what the future holds, but for now I have a sneaking suspicion that I didn’t know it was time to come home until I got there.