Football Extra newsletter: Dispatches from inside the Tartan Army

Just travelling to a World Cup is its own special adventure. Before I got out of Glasgow Airport en route to Dublin and then on to Boston, the fun had well and truly started.

At check in there were flights going to Reykjavik, London, Dublin, Lisbon and many more widespread cities. Each flight had a snaking line full of kilted Scots. It looked like a tartan clad exodus had begun or a friendly invasion organised, with everyone delighted to be going along.

Before even dropping my suitcase, two men were being interviewed beside the airport entrance doors. Their less-travelled but still impressive route was to be Glasgow to Lisbon, on to the Azores, then I think Cancun in Mexico before flying up to Boston. All very impressive except they had slept in and missed the first of those flights. I don't even want to think of the thousands lost for the sake of a 'wee' lie in!

The best was yet to come, when I made it through passport control, I was sipping a coffee when a very serious sounding lady made an urgent announcement over the intercom: "Would anyone who has lost a kilt, please come to the lost property immediately".

I then witnessed something very rare, an entire airport laughing together.

He might not have noticed he'd lost his kilt, but if he was a true Scotsman (wearing no underwear underneath) then I bet everyone else had!

'It's all they're talking about': Scotland gripped by World Cup fever

There is nervousness buried beneath the Scottish smiles of my fellow travellers from the Tartan Army though.