The Tartan Quest

The Emerald Isle, land of leprechauns and home to St. Patrick himself… so what would be better to blog about two days before St. Patrick’s Day than my trip to… Scotland!

Okay, don’t send me hate mail… I know there’s a big difference between Ireland and Scotland, just read till the end, it’ll come full circle I promise.

Recently, I was able to go with my husband on a trip of a lifetime, three days in Aberdeen, Scotland and four days in London, England. He had to work, I went to play (I’m no dummy). My mission was to see everything I could possibly see in the allotted time. On my first day in Aberdeen, I decided to take a tour of the city. No sooner had I introduced myself, the tour guide practically shouted, “You’re Scottish!”

I shrugged. “I honestly have no idea.”

He nodded. “We have lots of McMurrains here, I bet you have your own tartan.”

“My own what?”

“Tartan, the official plaid of your family.”


I could feel a tingle start to grow in my stomach, I had an additional mission for my trip. Get myself a scarf in my tartan. I would’ve bought my husband a kilt in our tartan, but that would’ve been a complete waste of money, he’d never wear it, even though he’s totally got the legs for it. TMI?

After my tour of the city, I went back to the hotel and started Googling. I was determined to find my tartan. I looked at site after site, trying different spellings of my last name. Nothing.


My husband texted that they were headed my way to go to dinner, so I went down and talked to my good friend and desk clerk who must live at the hotel because she never left, seriously, she was always there, Linda. I told her of my plight while waiting for the cab. She agreed that there were a lot of McMurrains in Aberdeen. The cab pulled up and I told her to have a nice evening.

Dinner was great, as was all our food in Scotland (minus the black pudding, you can read about that on my blog). As we enter the hotel after dinner, we were met with Linda’s smiling face (I told you, she never left).
“I did some research for you,” she beamed. “I know why you couldn’t find your tartan.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” I asked.

“Because you’re Irish!”


So this St. Patty’s Day pour me some green beer, hand me a four-leaf clover and give me a big ol’ kiss cause I’m Irish.


JenJennifer “the Irish” McMurrain writes about her life as a full-time writer, full-time, first time Mommy at A Moment of Jen (
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