Claustrophobic as we are living in the cramped city of Edinburgh, we decided to do an overnight stay at Westen Cowden Farmhouse, a bed and breakfast in the neighboring town of Dalkeith. We're used to things going amiss, but a surprising number of odd events tranpired.
On the bus ride down, a dude fell asleep - I mean ASLEEP - and was flung out of his seat on a sharp turn. Fortunately, his face broke the fall. The bus driver stopped and I tried to help him up. He woke up, but I'm not sure he quite recovered. Was it alcohol? Heroin? Term papers?
A few minutes later a woman asked if we were from Minnesota. Yikes. I know were ostensibly American, but apparently, having only spent seven years in South Dakota, we're radiating the midwest.
Ah, then there was that little dog with a tree branch - five feet across, maybe 20 pounds - in its mouth while jumping over a three foot high fence, and its owner, swearing like a sailor, and the owner's friend reprimanding him for not being able to construct a sentence without the f-bomb.
So much for the sleepy little Scottish village idea. Get us back to Edinburgh.
4 comments:
Well, at least the village photo is nice.
Sorry to hear about your troubles too! It's been a while since I was so angry. Will you all be there next year, or is that the question?
That is so funny! I wonder what it is that makes you look like you're from the midwest?
You left out the part about the Minnesota Viking cap and t-shirt you were wearing. Just kidding.
Yeah. Christina has this little problem with saying stuff like, "Our North Stars could whip those Canucks any day, doncha know."
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