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I hear you’ve all been missing me. That’s good. It’s good for a blogger’s ego to engender that sort of dependence. I’m like crack. Or cookie dough straight out of the bowl. Let’s start off with some quotes from the past two days, shall we?

Moo. The photos in the post were taken by yours truly above Plockton, across the bridge from the Isle of Skye.

NTS [looking at a 10-pack of folders] : Hey, it looks like there’s an extra folder in here.
Brid and NTS: Looks like this package goes to eleven!

This is *not* Spinal Tap.

Brid: I forgot how much I love labelling and organising my new folders at the beginning of the semester. [Pause.] Wow, I really am Hermione today.

It was surprisingly difficult to get the colour balance right shooting out on the hilltops. There was a lot of light, and the colours tended toward green, purple and grey.

Professor: If you’re a linguist, you think about language in the shower. Or the bath*. Or the bath**, depending on your dialect area and bathing preferences.

* Pronounced ‘bath’, with the /a/ sound in cat, for almost all American speakers 
** Imagine someone with a really, really posh British accent saying ‘bah th’.***
*** If you came here because of my work on linguistics, pretend you didn’t see that. My work is a lot more cogent when I have the ability to embed IPA symbols.

The trail went straight through cow territory. There was a gate at the trailhead to keep them in; one either opened the full 8′ gate or used the built-in step to climb over it. I think they’re used to cows around those parts.

Brid: I’ve never been able to get that vowel sound. We don’t say it that way in the Northeast. What did you do again?
NTS: I caught the ball.
Brid: I CAUGHT the ball.
NTS: Careful there. Any further and you’re going to sound like a Boston Brahmin.
Brid: I CAUGHT the ball.
I feel like Eliza Dolittle.
NTS: The rrrain in Spain…

o O o

It’s time for today’s round of ‘Spot That Husband’.

I keep looking out through the sheer window curtains. All the light seems to have been sucked from the world. Then a shadowy figure appears, hooded and cloaked in black. I jump up and reach for my wand. Expecto Patronum! is on the tip of my tongue.

Then I sit down and sigh. It’s not a dementor. It’s just a rainy afternoon in Edinburgh.

For a while, my mind is on my translation. Then my gaze drifts up to the window…

The Open-Air Church, Plockton

On that note, guess how many dementors I saw this afternoon?

By the way, the Harry Potter Society meeting last night was great.

o O o