Pagans and other humdrum Scottish notes…

By May 8, 2006No Comments

“So are we only going to expect updates to the mighty wibbler.com when you meet celebrities?” said a solitary email that flooded into my mailbox a few minutes ago. Now, less of the sarcasm, mister. I suppose I should be glad that someone’s noticed there’s been an update – my audience must have dwindled a little over the last few months, while I flew around making business and personal ends meet and generally working myself into a frenzy. As it happens, I came back last week from Edinburgh. It was a dull week, by all accounts – the glorious sunshine that bathed the south of England didn’t manage to reach the wilds of Scotland – but the hotel made it all the better. It’s the only Edinburgh hotel I’ve stayed in, one where all the staff make a decent stab at looking happy about life. It’s called The Glasshouse, a converted church that sits at the bottom of an ominous hill. An ominous hill, I found out the next morning, that hosted a “pagan sex festival” the night before, which may explain the random clothes I saw as I looked out my hotel window. I mentioned it to my friend Marcel, who immediately incriminated himself by identifying the event as the Beltane. “Ah, I remember those days,” he muttered, allowing me to inwardly combust with shock and awe at this seemingly straight-laced man.
Anyway, Edinburgh’s nice. Very nice. But not nice enough to make me long for home on the third morning up there. There’s nothing like a girlfriend, a 40″ television and an XBOX 360 to come home to on Friday evening, let me tell you…

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