3.40 pm BST (British Summer Time)
Facebook status: Arrived Edinburgh hotel stop love to all stop
5.45 pm BST
After a shower, a nap, and the most delicious pot pie it has ever been my privelege to consume, I have recovered my equanimity enough to type in complete sentences. NTS and I are checked in for the night at a pretty little hotel north of the Forth of Firth. After our stay last weekend, our families will appreciate my pain at the discovery that faucets that spout only hot or only cold water appear to be the norm here, rather than the exception.
It is with difficulty that I have restrained myself from (visibly) giggling at all the funny accents. It started before we left, actually. I let myself into Daniprose’s apartment Monday aftenoon, absentmindedly said hello to the person in the back hallway, and went in to watch the telly. (Fun fact: thanks to Daniprose, the last movie I saw before leaving the country was Role Models.) It was only when he came in to discuss the wiring that I realised that he was a) the electrician and b) very, very Irish. I spent most of that conversation hiding my giggles behind the couch.
By the time we hit the airport shuttle bus in London Heathrow, NTS said that I would have to control that reaction. But I ask you, how can I, when the flight attendant unironically uses the word ‘smashing’ in a sentence? Or a newscaster starts her report with “‘ello”? Or when the nice young waiter comes over and I only understand two words in three? It’s easier in Scotland, though–the people don’t, mostly, sound like they’ve just popped out of a BBC drama.
Pots of tea: 4
Recipies to try: 2
Hours of sleep: 4. Including the nap.
Giggles: legion (for they are many.)
Protip: When driving in Scotland, a dashed white line may or may not indicate the center line of a two-way street. Just saying.
No people or automobiles were harmed to bring you this tip. I think the other drivers smelled a Yank and stayed out of harm’s way.
Tomorrow we make our way to the actual Hebrides.