The Isherwoods are a wee people. We know this. Often I have said to self, "Self, you are a wee man." The fact is I bought my windbreaker from Gap Kids a few years back and it fits me like a glove - a wee glove.

Being wee, accepting one's weeness, is one of those things that shows, truly, that I am a confident man. After all, there are lots of wee people who do some nasty things because they are compensating for their weeness, like start wars, or fights, or binge drink. No, accepting who one is may be one of those great lessons for short people everywhere.

Alas, I was wandering about my new town Glasgow yesterday with a friend and a convenience store clerk called me a “wee man”. As I am still new to this whole accent thing, my initial reaction to Glaswegian is to smile stupidly at the person talking. So at first I didn’t know what he was saying. After an internal “what the deuce” I asked my friend, “did he just call me a wee man.” She said, “yes” then laughed riotously at my weeness.

Now, Scotland is hardly a nation of giants. I have seen hundreds of men so far in Glasgow whose inseams are likely as short or shorter than mine. But being called wee, though somewhat charming compared to short, shorty, tiny, shrimpy, miniature or vertically challenged, made me come to the realization that this blog, this portrait of Sam, Penny and I abroad, must be called for what it is: it is a saga of wee people in a new (daresay wee?) land.

So enjoy. We’ll try to send updates as often as we can. Oh, and the caption photo is of the University. More to come soon . . .