Act of Union, 1707. Still nailed in my head from history A-level. Three centuries on, could Scotland really be about to tear it up? I hope so. It's a thrilling prospect.

It's a bit like your gran divorcing your grandad. Weird and shocking at first, but then you think how brilliant to live in this modern world where old people are allowed to escape loveless marriages.

I never thought I'd really care much about Scotland opting out of Auld Lang Syne and all that. But I do. I wish you good luck, Scottish people, with a dram in my throat and a lump in my hand. Have one for the high road afore ye go and please accept the apologies of an Englishman for all the wrongs you've suffered over the centuries.

The Highland clearances*. Russ Abbot. The appropriation of Berwick**. The execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Cokeheads in red trousers hee-hawing around your privatised countryside, shooting at grouse. That floating nuke park at Faslane.

I'm always guided by people I don't like on matters I'm not sure of. And quite a few of the people rubbishing the idea of Scottish independence seem like the sort who'd never drink at lunchtime and who have "regimes" for eating and exercise and internet use. Just think about the party celebrations if Scotland votes Yes. It'd be a right old bloody knees-up. The No lot would probably have a wee sherry and a quiet chuckle.

Actually, the more you hear from the No lot the less they sound like an unreasonable spouse and the more they sound like Dad. Grow up, they argue. Flouncing out of the United Kingdom like this, and anyway it's not as if you're decamping to the Mediterranean, is it? You're still IN SCOTLAND. Just a gobby teenager stropping off to her bedroom. It's a rebellious phase you're going through, a gesture of defiance. Well, GREAT. Some of us love that. Crusty England laying down the law, attractive young Scotland giving it the finger.

One of the most interesting conversations I've had on the subject of geology was on the last Glasgow train out of Euston one Friday night. A young Scottish bloke, partially obscured by a ziggurat of lager cans, held forth on how Scotland was the Youngest Country in the World because of "the tilt". As Brighton and Hove sink a little more every year, there's a corresponding lift at the other end of the land mass. Scotland, he said, was literally on the rise. He had, briefly, an interesting take on how national geology affected national psychology, how Scottish hearts were lifting steadily but surely, one millimetre at a time, before finishing his cans at around Warrington Bank Quay, calling us all bastards and falling asleep.

I really want Scotland to go for it. Those of us who live in the north of England look south and see the same thing. An England effectively shrunk to the Greater London area. It exists within the invisible forcefield of the M25, and these days is a cruel and surreal place. Much of it is owned and managed remotely by billionaires on the other side of the planet. The greed of absentee landlords crushing the life out of it. Centrifugal "market forces" flinging the poor out. Meanwhile, capitalism's own ruthless geology creates archipelagos of conspicuous wealth for the world's idle rich.

And who presides over England's microcosm, this chaparal of breadline and bunga-bunga? Why, the quintessential Englishman. A gurgling loaf with a sheepdog's haircut and a repertoire of Latin bum jokes. If you had to name a person who was the absolute opposite of Scottish, it would be Boris Shitbin Johnson, hands down.

Well I'm sick of being English. I want to take my fierce sense of national pride somewhere else. I am dissatisfied with my current patriotism services provider and I want a new one. I want to be Scottish. I want to celebrate the working class, not disdain it. I want to be part of a new country that introduces, as the independents have promised, universal childcare for pre-schoolers. I want free education and free medicine.

I propose a referendum for both Scotland and the north of England. On behalf of those of us who live in the north, I ask – is there any chance of a Greater Scotland? I'm thinking the new Scottish border could come in just below Blackpool, slice Manchester in half to create a tense, cold war-like Berlin of the north. Then OK, it gets a bit hazy. Whitby belongs in England, but we New Scots would be happy to have Bradford, say, if not Leeds. I think there'd have to be a separate vote for the Newcastle area to be honest. Feelings could be volatile, as usual, and the last thing anyone needs is a Geordie Balkans.

People of the north, it's time to choose. English? Or Scottish? Here's a shibboleth for you – the word "supper". If it suggests an informal meal in someone's kitchen involving salad, white wine and moaning about school fees, you're English. If it suggests something battered with chips, you're Scottish.

Scots, I implore you. Strike out. And at least take some of us with you.

*To be fair though, the clearances were managed by Scottish poshoes.

**Look, we nicked Berwick but we also took Carlisle, so let's just shake and call it quits.