Peter Ross - A nation stripped to its icons – but not quite Buckie naked

A Louis Vuitton tweed suit gives an idea of what Sex And The City might have been like had it starred Annabel Goldie

IN SCOTLAND, we often define ourselves by what we lack, be that full independence, good diet, or a world-class football team. It seems appropriate, then, that much of the advance publicity for A Changing Nation, the new permanent collection of the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh, has focused on the absence of an exhibit.

It had been intended to include a bottle of Buckfast as a nod to our hard-drinking culture, but the plans were dropped when the drink's manufacturers complained. That's a pity as, like it or not, Buckfast is emblematic of one aspect of Scotland, and deserves its place on the gantry of icons.

So, visiting on the opening day of the exhibition, I am tempted to follow the recent example of the man at Madame Tussauds in Berlin who ripped the head off the waxwork of Adolf Hitler, and make a guerrilla intervention, purchasing a bottle of Buckfast and placing it, furtively, on a plinth. However, I think better of it.

As it is, the exhibition, which is in the top floor of the museum, still has around 500 objects which, taken together, represent the flux and flash of life in Scotland during the turbulent 20th century and the early years of the 21st; it includes everything from trade unionism to Tunnock's Teacakes. The smallest item is a chip manufactured in Scotland's Silicon Glen and the largest is a blue Hillman Imp motor car, on to which are projected lyrics from The Proclaimers' 'Letter From America'.

Remarkably, I've only just finished jotting this contrast in size into my notepad when I meet a man with experience of both. Brian Young, 63, from Glenrothes, has come here today with his wife Grace, 61. He used to work for Raytheon, the company that made the silicon chip, and once owned a Hillman Imp. These days, though, he and Grace get around using their free bus passes. "That's a good aspect of Scottish life," she says. They enjoyed the exhibition, though they were a bit taken aback by the footage of Margaret Thatcher addressing the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1988, the infamous Sermon On The Mound. "That woman!" says Grace. "She's not a good memory for Scotland. She wasn't in touch with our psyche at all."

Grace isn't alone in feeling this way. I stand by the video footage of Thatcher for about 10 minutes, as much as I can bear, and it's amazing how many people tut, groan, curse and blow raspberries when she appears. It's also a bit weird that she seems to be dressed as Mr Matey.

Overall, though, no one I speak to has a bad word to say about the exhibition. It is certainly a comprehensive and imaginative look at Scotland, although my impression is that the Scottish visitors are getting more out of it than the foreign tourists in lightweight cagoules and humpy Loch Ness Monster hats, who look rather mystified by some of what's on show.

Scotland: A Changing Nation opens on a rather blood-red and bombastic note with a quote from the Scottish socialist politician James Maxton: "This is our land, this is our Scotland, these are our people, these are our men, our works, our women and children. Can you beat it?"

The opening part of the exhibition deals with war, 200,000 Scots having died in the two world wars. The section after that, industry, includes a Louis Vuitton suit made from tweed, which gives an idea of what Sex And The City might have been like had it starred Annabel Goldie.

Right at the back of the exhibition space there's a fantastic installation called One Nation, Five Million Voices. You watch a fast-moving film of Scots, some famous, most unknown, talking about different aspects of Scottish life. "Wheesht. Gallus. Bissum," says Carol Smillie, listing her favourite Scots words. I wonder if she ever said that to Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen?

Taggart's Alex Norton, meanwhile, puts it well when he says: "There's a part of the Scots character that likes to think we're all Bravehearts, and in reality there's a lot of wee men in grey shoes wondering what their wife has got for tea that night."

My favourite, though, is the old lady who says: "Herrings. I do like herrings."

There is more audio-visual amusement to be had in the section of the exhibition dealing with entertainment. You can sit on old cinema seats and watch clips of Scottish bands and singers compiled without any critical or chronological regard. In quick succession, I see the Alexander Brothers, the Associates, Sydney Devine in a rhinestone suit, Altered Images, the Average White Band, Travis, Texas, KT Tunstall and Deacon Blue. "Ooh!" the young woman sitting next to me hoots lustily when they appear. "Ricky Martin!"

Nearby are various objects which once belonged to Scottish stars. Amy Macdonald's school report says "with support can produce musical work", which seems generous. More glamorously, there is a tiny dress which Lulu wore while performing 'Relight My Fire' with Take That.

The curator David Forsyth picked up the dress backstage at the SECC in Glasgow. "Lulu was great," he says. "I was talking to her road manager, this big guy, and the next thing there's this voice behind me. I turned round and there she was. So I said: 'I hope you don't mind this representing you in a museum?' And she replied: 'Honey, I'm a walking museum!'"

Later, having looked at the sections dealing with politics, where exhibits hark back to both Tommy Sheridan and Gordon Brown in happier times, I talk to Tom White, a 51-year-old from South Queensferry. He thinks the exhibition is impressive. What's his take on the Buckfast issue, though? "I parked the car today and lying on the pavement were two empty vodka bottles and a bottle of Buckfast. It's out there, it's part of our culture, and you don't need to come to a museum to see it."

I won't argue. The truth is that Scotland: A Changing Nation doesn't need Buckie. It's a wee tonic in its own right.