A visit to the land of Haggis

I've been away yet again this weekend, but in a completely different direction for a change. We call it... "North". Yes, bonny Scotland beckoned and I went willingly. It's been over a year since I have been to Edinburgh, but it didn't appear to have changed much. Not that we saw much of the main city, since we were staying by the Firth of Forth. I'm not sure what a Firth is. Probably a big river or estuary or something, but Scottish.

The reason for the trip was the flatwarming party of a friend who has recently moved (avec cats) from York to Edinburgh. Unlike the last flat I visited, this one didn't have psychotic CCTV systems installed for spying on people coming in and out. Or if it did have such systems, we were not shown them.

Slightly off topic, it's surprising how many people in Scotland are called Scott. I encountered three on Saturday night - 2 at the party and one working behind the bar of the local pub that we visited aforehand (It's nice to travel 200 miles and still be able to get a pint (or two) of Landlord. Beer good beer is Landlord). If I was called Scott, I'm not sure whether I'd feel proud or embarassed to live in a country named after me. Edinburgh even has a Scott Memorial, which is possibly to commemorate all the many millions of people called Scott who have passed through the grand old city. Maybe each of them visits the memorial and signs the guest book.

I personally am quite glad that I am not called Eng.

It is not uncommon for parties held by this personage to contain some musical entertainment. Last night we had... Karaoke! I love karaoke. Here you can see just how much I love karaoke:



See that look of pure unalloyed pleasure? And that's only when I'm not even singing. Obviously when I am singing, the look on everyone else's face would mirror mine exactly (mirror as in "be the complete opposite of").

The trains this weekend have been fairly rubbish. Not late, just hugely diverted (to the tune of an extra one and a half to two hours each way). Engineering works on the line meant that we had to travel via Carlisle - literally on the other side of the country. People did query whether we had accidentally gone up the wrong coast - I'm not sure how it would be possible to do that from York. You'd have to make a real effort to accidentally end up in Carlisle, which could explain why I have never accidentally gone there before. I've never been there intentionally either.

I'm quite hard pressed to think of any cities that I have visited unintentionally. Well, I guess that's something to brag to the grandchildren about - "In my long life, I never once went somewhere that I didn't mean to go. I always had purpose." Not that I have grandchildren of course. I'm not quite that old. I'm not even slightly quite that old. Unless I was from Barnsley (which I amn't).