Mammy has had enough.

Not of porridge.

Of logistics.

Because Gina Saarberg, 28, has just won the World Porridge Making Championship in Carrbridge using Dutch pinhead oats, salt and water she brought from the Netherlands.

To Scotland.

With water.

Scotland.

A country practically made of the stuff.

We have lochs. We have burns. We have reservoirs. We have rain arriving sideways. We have tap water so good that somebody only has to mention a filter jug and half the room starts taking it personally.

And she still brought her own.

That is commitment.

Or audacity.

Mammy has not yet decided.

The traditional rules are brutally simple: oats, water and salt. That’s it. No cream. No honey. No cinnamon. No wee berry arrangement on top to make the judges feel guilty about marking you down.

Which means once the ingredients are stripped back that far, water stops being water and apparently becomes sports equipment.

This is no longer breakfast.

This is Formula One with a saucepan.

Somewhere in the Netherlands, Gina must have packed for the Highlands and thought:

Passport. Phone. Toothbrush. Competitive hydration.

Mammy cannot stop thinking about airport security.

“Any liquids?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Water.”

“Where are you going?”

“Scotland.”

There should have been a pause there.

A long one.

Possibly with another officer called over.

“And why are you taking water to Scotland?”

“Porridge.”

At that point, frankly, you stamp the passport and get out of her way. You are clearly dealing with an elite athlete.

And then she won.

That is the bit that turns this from eccentric preparation into psychological warfare.

Because now every Scottish porridge maker has to live with the knowledge that someone travelled hundreds of miles carrying Dutch water into the Highlands, poured it over oats and left with the Golden Spurtle.

Imagine explaining that to your granny.

“We lost the porridge.”

“To who?”

“The Dutch.”

“With what?”

“Oats.”

“Fair enough.”

“And their own water.”

Silence.

Curtains twitching.

Someone in the family group chat types “disgrace”.

The really painful thing is that she might actually have had a point. Saarberg believed the softer Dutch water could make a difference.

Which means somewhere in Scotland right now, a grown adult is standing at the kitchen sink staring at the tap as though it has personally let the nation down.

Mammy would like everyone to calm down.

The water is innocent.

Probably.

Thirty competitors from 14 countries took part, which is already more international diplomacy than anyone expected from a bowl of oats.

There was also a speciality category won by Australian Rob Reid with a porridge cannoli, because once you remove the traditional rules, apparently the immediate response is to stuff porridge into Italian pastry and see if anyone stops you.

Nobody did.

But the water remains the story.

Because this woman did not just enter a porridge competition.

She brought an away kit.

Next year Scotland needs to be ready.

Own oats.

Own spoon.

Own saucepan.

And if somebody arrives at Inverness Airport wheeling a suitcase full of continental tap water, Mammy wants customs informed immediately.