My brother’s iPod’s been working overtime. It kept us entertained in the car from practically one end of Britain to the other, which was certainly better than carrying 1000 miles of CDs with us.

My biggest complaint: the Meatloaf + Cher duet. Ugh.

Got my first taste of Little Britain tonight. Man, that is one fucked up show. We watched an episode of the American version of The Office as well, and ordered pizza. A nice, relaxing evening, just what the doctor ordered.

Tomorrow should be pretty chilled too: get some groceries, buy a new battery for the camera, hang out in the park (weather permitting), try to upload some pics, and plan our next two days in London.

We’re home! Hip hop hooray!!

We’re in the home stretch now. About two hours away from London (provided the M1 doesn’t completely bugger up near the city), fully rest-stopped and ready to get out of the car. She’s served us well, the wee black steed.

We stopped for lunch about 90 minutes south of Edinburgh in Bamburgh. The pub was another from the pub guide, and it lived up to its billing. I had the steak and ale pie: very tasty. There’s also an enormous castle that dominates the town, so we drove up to the gate, took a few pictures and got back on the road.

Nothing else of consequence to report: a long drive, hot weather (it’s sunny and 27 outside), some Tornados flying formations near Newcastle…that’s about it.

As much as we loved Scotland and the English countryside we’ll be very, very glad to get back to the flat in Ealing.

One observation: it isn’t a cliche…Scotland really does have that many sheep. Another observation: my wife is now addicted to Thai sweet chili crisps.

I hope to put a few pictures up on my flickr stream tomorrow, if I can find a way to do so with Win2k native software. Stay tuned.

Ah, the sausage butty. My friend and my enemy.

A bit more of a stroll around Edinburgh this morning. Lots of pictures, a bit of shopping, and now we’re about to get on the road south.

After so much running about and eating in restaurants, it was nice to head over to the afore-mentioned (sorta-)cousin’s flat last night for dinner. Truth be told I’ve not seen her in about fifteen years, but living here in the UK she sees my brother every so often, so we spent the evening with she, her husband and their 9 month old son. There was much beer and wine, some fun conversation, and she prepared a great and meaty feast. She marvelled at how big I’d grown, I marvelled at the melange of accents she seems to’ve acquired over the years. But it was a wonderful time, just what we needed, I think.

After a cab ride home and an apertif in the bar (Aberlour and Tamdhu for us) it was time for more bed. Now we’re up and getting ready for long trek back to London. The great adventure continues!!

Day three. I am becoming very familiar with the girlfriend-in-law’s car. I have also begun using the words “reckon”, “boot” and “tosser” with some frequency.

After a quick breakfast at a cafe down the Grassmarket, we got on the road and aimed for Stirling. We figured we should see at least one castle while we’re here (well…beyond the one outside our window, which costs 12 quid and is lousy with tourists) and Stirling’s close, so that was that. After a few side road trips to see more sights we ended up in Stirling, and crawled up the hill to the castle. The brother managed to stifle his pathlogical refusal to pay for parking, and in we went.

The castle was…well, a castle. But the views were amazing, which is what I was after. From there you could see the ginormous William Wallace monument a few miles away. Once finished we consulted the pub guide for lunch, and found a place just north in Thornhill. Not a bad pub, but the food was just ok and we were definitely the youngest people there so we felt a bit out of place. Oh, and they had a bit of a malfunction with their radio, such that we and the octagenerians in the room listened to hardcore gangsta rap for about sixty seconds.

We then decided to get a closer look at the Wallace monument, but when we arrived it seemed so tourist-trappy that we opted not to take the shuttle to the top. Since Braveheart, this place has obviously become rather cheesy. A national hero, commoditized.

And so, with a quick stop in Culross on the way home, we crossed the Forth bridge and got back to the hotel. A quick beer with Nellie and the brother, and now I’m back here to relax for about half an hour. That, I believe, will be the longest such break we’ve had yet.

By the way, it’s barely 5:00 and the Grassmarket is already swarming with pissheads. One other note: it stays light here for a REALLY long time. Last night it didn’t get dark until about 10:00.

So, fairly late in the day we went off in search of two pubs, both of them in the brother’s pub guide. Both were quite good, though very different: the first — Bannerman’s — was a rock n’ roll dive, playing rock and metal to a crowd that ranged from stoner to old grungy guy. The second place — The Bow Bar — was a nicer spot, which offered 140 single malt whiskies, and some tasty crisps. That took us ’til about 9:30. Then began the trek for food.

We hunted high and low, old town and new, but pretty much every place was too touristy (and thus, too expensive) or was closing down. After 45 minutes we found a decent looking Indian place that would serve us. After all that food and a large Cobra, we were pretty full. We tried the pubs along the Grassmarket, but they were all too jampacked. And so they remain, as I can still hear outside our hotel even now. Edinburgh’s great, very old and amazing to look at, but JESUS there are a lot of pissheads here.

Gonna try to get some sleep now.

Whew!

So after my last post the gentleman who runs the B&B made us all breakfast…eggs laid by his chickens, meat bought from local butchers, the whole works…all excellent. Some juice, coffee and a stroll through their lovely gardens and we were off.

We drove through some pretty countryside and then continued north on the M1, past Sheffield and Leeds, past the Angel of the North, to a farm just north of Neecastle owned by friend of in-laws. Sort of. Anyway, they’ve become the adoptive UK family of my brother and his girlfriend. Their house and farm are beautiful, and they (and their daughter) took care of us and entertained us wonderfully, putting out a delicious lunch and keeping us in stitches. We couldn’t stay long, but it almost felt like leaving home to drive away. I hope to return there one day.

So, after a little unsteady navigating, we find our highway and head north toward Scotland. Just before we crossed the border you could see the change in the terrain: hillier, with more sheep and heather. So, pretty much as expected. But no less beautiful. I take one last piss on the English side of the border and we press on.

A quick stop for pictures of an abbey on the Jed River, a dash along the highway into Edinburgh past rolling hills and grazing sheep, some zipping up and down the cobblestone streets until finally we made it to the hotel. We got checked in, but Nellie and I had a problem: our room wasn’t made up. We ran downstairs and they quickly changed our room. We get to the second room and…it’s a wheelchair access room, which has no tub, which my wife won’t stand for. We go back to the desk, and they very apologetically make it up to us: a suite. So I write this post, sitting on my sofa, watching Wimbledon in surround sound, my feet scrunching a decadent rug. Beauty.

And now…a pub (or two)!!!

What a venture to the north so far. London traffic, to the great surprise of no one, sucks in the worst way. The M1 was brutal: we took other motorways as shortcuts as best we could, but inevitably we hit traffic near Nottingham that brought us to a crawl.

Just past Nottingham we grew frustrated and ducked off to the side roads, on the lookout for a pub. We stopped at one place and decided the wait was too long; that was a bit of good luck, as the next candidate we spotted — The White Bear — was a brilliant find. An old (obviously) stone building overlooking a beautiful valley, they served amazing food (some of the best, and certainly the most, duck that I’ve ever been served…in a black cherry sauce) with lots of veg, and some good drinks. Quite a find.

Speaking of finding, the B&B proved to be a challenge. The English like to give directions that aren’t terribly specific or helpful, so we did a lot of driving up and down tiny country lanes trying to read signs in the dark, having no mobile coverage with which to call, before finally arriving. It’s the epitome of English country home, with beautiful gardens and such, but all I really cared about was the softness of the bed. I slept like the dead, but awoke to the sounds of birds and farm animals outside. Yup. We’re in England.

Time for breakfast. This message won’t get through ’til tonight as there’s no coverage here.