They called it “The Noughties” in the UK by the way

2000-2009. Good riddance I say.

Happy New Year, everyone.

- Pope!

And now, a scene from Night of the Living Essay

INT. POPE’S SMALL ROOM /CELL /THING – EVENING

MICHAEL is sitting at his desk, frantically typing away at his KEYBOARD as he works dilligently on another of the many essays his professors at STIRLING UNI love to assign him, all inexplicably worth 50% of his total class grade. Scattered around him are the PILED-UP REMAINS of many an EMPTY TAKE-AWAY BOX and drained can of KRONENBOURG 1664 PREMIUM LAGER (3.50 for a 4-pack of tallboys at Tesco!).

Suddenly, his PHONE rings.

MICHAEL: Sigh. I miss Spongebob. (Note: MICHAEL’s US phone has SPONGEBOB giggling uncontrollably as a ringtone. It makes MICHAEL giggle uncontrollably as well)

MICHAEL’s friend KEIR: “Pope! Come quick! The Scottish Bikini Team needs two guys to help wax their chests before the annual Miss Highland Haggis competition tonight!” 

MICHAEL: I can’t. I’ve got so much stuff to do. I’m absolutely swamped.

MICHAEL looks at his TO-DO LIST, scrolling through the entries: ESSAY, ESSAY, ESSAY, ESSAY, ESSAY, ESSAY, BUY BOOZE, ESSAY, REMEMBER TO BLINK, UPDATE BLOG. 

KEIR: Come on, dude! They even said that if we do a good job, they’ll let us eat black pudding out of their belly-buttons! Come for the banter!

MICHAEL (pauses): Alright, I’m there.

MICHAEL throws on a clean pair of PANTS, his STIRLING UNIVERSITY HOODIE, slips into his cool pair of green-and-black ADIDAS SHOES that he bought in Glasgow and bolts out the door, forgetting to shut-down his laptop.

During a freak thunderstorm that evening, LIGHTNING strikes MICHAEL’s flat (even though the nearby WALLACE MONUMENT is a giant tower that sits on a nearby rise of land and reaches about 1000 feet higher than his 3-story building) and the electical surge travels through the WALL SOCKET and into his LAPTOP, bringing his half-written ESSAY to life.

ESSAY: WOOOOOOOOOOOORRRDSSS… WOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRDSSSS… 2,500 WOOOOOOOOOOOORRRDSSS… MULTIPLE SOOOOOUUUUURRRRCESSSSSSSS…

 The newly-animated ESSAY proceeds to stalk the unsuspecting town of STIRLING in the night, feasting upon the productivity of STUDENTS and TOWNSPEOPLE alike. To this day, it has yet to be found.

—

So that’s basically what happened.

- Pope

Hi ho, Kermit the Frog here

Folks, I’m not going to lie to you: I feel like shit right now. I’ve been battling yet another goddamn cold, and I spent all of this morning and afternoon writing a 2000-word essay for a class I’ve barely attended at all this semester. I really don’t think I’m up for typing any more than I have to, so you know what that means. It’s picture time.

(bee-tee-dubs: I’ve dumped all the pictures I’ve taken so far onto my flickr account, which you can access by clicking one of the thumbnails on the right of your screen. You can thank my Uncle Rich for graciously providing me with a year of flickr pro by checking out his photostream)

Outside of my hotel room in Rome, the Italian flag was flown with pride.

 

Hehe...pedonale.

 

"Hey, I'll trade you two Juan Marinonis for a Paolo Burali."

 

HERCULEEEEEEEEZ!

 

 

Wow, so the Canadians managed to successfully invade someplace. Color me impressed.

 

YES! MORE PUNS! SOON THEY WILL BECOME THE GLOBAL NORM AND I WILL RISE TO CLAIM MY THRONE AS THE PUN-DERTAKER!

 

So it looks like someone decided to give their bike a DIY paint job. With spray-paint. And the coated the gears and chain and everything. Something tells me that bike isn't really high on any potential bike theif's list. Might wanna skip the U-lock next time and spend that money on a proper education, Antonio.

 

I picked up a bit of Italian during my travels. I'm pretty sure this was some kind of underground dance club, but when I knocked nobody would let me in. Probably because my mom and aunt were right there behind me, killing my game as usual. Now I'm never going to learn the Electric Slide.

 

THIS JUST IN: Giant Sea-gull attacks Rome. Matthew Broderick strangely nowhere to be found. More at 11.

 

BEHOLD THE MIGHTY PHAR-AWESOME II

 

Max, is this irony? Are you even reading this?

 

I promise you, I did not add that underline in Photoshop. It really was THAT boggy.

 

Max, I think this cow and your brother Garrett were separated at birth. You're still not reading this are you.

 

Scot-o-raptor or Tartan-osaurus? Whatever it is, I want one. And I want it yesterday.

 

"STEEEMPY YOU EEEEDIOT!"

 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Well that’s all I feel like doing for today. It’s not looking likely that I’ll post again before I leave for Barcelona on Thursday, but maybe I’ll change my mind after I finish writing another 2500-word essay by tomorrow night.

…YEAH RIGHT.

- Pope

Too easy…

Sometimes this blog just writes itself. If only it would do so more often…

More updates on my highlands excursion are forthcoming. Stay tuned.

- Pope

BLAH.

INT. POPE’S ROOM – NIGHT

>HELLO, MICHAEL.

ZZZzzzzzzzwha? Whoizzit?

>THIS IS THE INTERNET, MICHAEL. WAKE UP. WE NEED TO TALK_

Goway. Leemee lone.

>CAN'T LET YOU DO THAT, MICHAEL. YOU HAVE NEGLECTED YOUR BLOG FOR FAR
TOO LONG. IT LIES DORMANT ON MY SERVER LIKE A TANGLED, DIRTY HAIRBALL
OF NEGLECT, CLOGGING MY TUBES. ACTION MUST BE TAKEN IMMEDIATELY_

Jesus Christ, fine. I’m up. I’m up! But what am I supposed to write now? It’s been so long that Rome is no longer topical, and nothing interesting is going on at the moment, either! Plus I’m leaving for that tour tomorrow morning…

>YOU ARE THE WRITER. YOU THINK OF SOMETHING. WHAT IS THE MATTER,
CAT-5 GOT YOUR TONGUE? HA. HA. HA_

Good one. You must be a real hit at parties.

>SARCASM DETECTED. RESETTING HOMEPAGE TO "2 GIRLS 1 CUP" IN 3...2..._

AHAHnevermindjustkidding! Just kidding. Okay, I’ll get to work.

FADE TO: BLACK

* * *

Hello all. So sorry for disappearing like that. I would say that I had a good reason for doing so, but I just can’t lie to you, Dear Reader. I value our relationship too much. In reality, I’ve been spending my time sleeping, playing basketball and watching stupid online videos like this one:

 

Hahahaaahahah…hoo…man. Delicious Schadenfreude.

Back to the topic at hand. I think I’ve come up with an idea on how to make this blog more successful – by which I mean more updates and more entertainment for you, Dear Reader. I think my main problem (besides the whole laziness thing) has been that I felt I should only make a new post when something of interest happened, but aye, there’s the rub: the concept of “something of interest” differs for me and for you. I was under the impression that I had to leave the country or get robbed by a transvestite hooker in order to contribute something new to this site, when really all you were looking for, Dear Reader, was something to distract you from the boredom and mindless minutiae of your otherwise dull existence! Yes, it’s so clear to me now. Even if I’ve spent the day confined to my room due to torrential rains (like today, for instance), I’ll make every attempt to provide some sort of content for you to enjoy. You want more posts? You’ll get more posts, goddamnit.

You just have to wait until I get back from my 5-day highlands tour next Wednesday.

Yes, I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time, Dear Reader. A bad time indeed. Mid-semester break has come at last to Stirling U, and I’ll be attending this tour starting tomorrow morning. The itinerary can be found by following the link, but suffice it to say I’ll be all up in the highlands’ business for the better part of a week. I’ll be sure to take a lot of pictures, and as usual, if any of them manage to be something other than what you’d find in a common Google image search, I’ll be sure to post them here.

After that, my sister Katie and friend-of-the-blog Meghaan will be visiting Stirling on the 30th, and I will do my best to fit in an update while they proceed to drink the town dry and pass out on my floor. Barcelona will be invaded soon after on the 5th of November (remember, remember). I won’t be wearing a Guy Fawkes mask at the time, however, lest I be lumped-in with a more…unsavory part of the Internet. Besides, the mask I got while in Rome is MUCH COOLER.

♫ SCARAMOUCHE SCARAMOUCHE CAN YOU DO THE FANDANGO ♫

Speaking of that wonderful city, I know most of you are probably wondering how the trip was. Now that I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on my visit, I will say a few words about it. Actually, just two: TOURIST. TRAP.

Don’t get me wrong. I had a really great time there; the food was incredible, the weather impeccable, and the people were generally nice (mostly when we were paying them for a service). But the whole place is set up to take your hard-earned, recently-exchanged-for-a-net-loss, multi-colored Monopoly money. Looking out over the ruins of one of the world’s greatest civilizations is truly a humbling experience, but when I’m surveying the landscape from the second level of the Coliseum and something like this wanders into my view, it tends to bring out the cynic in me and really spoil the moment.

"SPARTANS! PREPARE FOR PHOTOS!"

There is one good thing (besides the mask) for which I remain grateful to Rome: presenting me with the knowledge of just how delicious gelato can be. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat normal ice cream again, something I don’t consider to be much of a loss. So I’ve got that going for me.

Oh, and here’s that fetish porn you asked for, Ryan. You’re Welcome.

Maybe if Halle Berry had marketed Catwoman to an Italian demographic, it might not have been such a box-office bomb. Just sayin'.

- Pope

WORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDS

This is just a quick heads-up for all 12 of you who read this: don’t expect an update for at least another week (I know it must come as such a surprise after the consistency of previous updates). Ahem. I have a good reason this time, though (and a merely-okay reason for last time, but I’ll get to that in a bit): I’ll be in Rome with my mother and aunt from Wednesday evening to Sunday afternoon. I promise to make it up to you guys with another extensive photo post when I return, and I’ll try my best to make it interesting. What I’m saying is, if you’re expecting some phenomenal photoscapes of major tourist attractions like the Coliseum, you’re better off heading to the library and looking them up in a Rand McNally’s Road Atlas (do they even make those anymore?). If there’s a sign with a dog defecating on it, you know I’ll be there.

Anyway, on to my excuse for not updating in almost a week – I’m sick. “Big deal,” you must be saying, directly into your monitor like some sort of crazy person, “everyone’s sick. Don’t you know there were like a bajillion cases of swine flu at KU already?” I mean, yeah, that’s awful and stuff, but it makes for some funny anecdotes (I was told that most house parties in the student ghetto had someone stand guard at the front door to make sure everyone used the giant pump-bottle of hand sanitizer there before they were allowed inside). And also, most of the people who were infected know when it started, and could have taken steps to prevent their exposure.

I didn’t have that luxury. Keep reading to find out why.

So remember when I said I had joined the men’s basketball team here at Stirling U? Well we had “initiation” last Thursday, and I can say it was one of the more interesting nights out I’ve ever had on either side of the Atlantic. The team started out at Nicky Tam’s, the awesomely-named pub that’s sponsoring us this year. Every first-year (including me) had to pick out a white shirt from a stack on the counter to wear for the evening. But these were no ordinary white shirts. We weren’t trying to show off our pecs (or lack thereof).

A typical night out in Scotland, brought to you by GUINNESS-VISION™.

Upon the front of each shirt was written a task to be performed before the night ended, and no two were the same. I apparently picked the easiest one, “Autograph Me”; I just had to collect as many signatures from other pub patrons as I could during our travels. Some 0f my teammates weren’t so lucky. Our center had a list of cheesy pick-up lines he had to complete (for example: “FAT PENGUIN! Now there’s an ice-breaker…” Yeah, they were horrendous), and most others involved demeaning themselves or the women they met in some way. The pièce de résistance was our point guard, who was stuck with “Guess Her Juggs!” – complete with a section for name, telephone number, estimated size and actual size. I’ll let you guess how he was meant to go about filling in that last section.

So after a few drinks to steel our confidence, we set off on our mini-pub crawl. The highlights:

• We were only at the first pub, Cape, for a half-hour before everyone started moving for the door real quick-like. Confused, I turned from my Guinness to see what the fuss was about. I forgot to mention above that there were three items listed on our backs that we had to gather that night as well, like a scavenger hunt. One of the guys had gone to the bathroom and claimed his first prize – a urinal cake. I downed my glass and sprinted for the door. No one went within 5 feet of him the rest of the night.
• At the second bar, Drouthy Neebors (don’t ask me how to say it), I got made fun of for the 93247528th time for being American. I let my teammate, Andy, borrow my marker since he had lost his, and after 10 minutes he had still not returned. Concerned about the large amount of white space still present on my shirt, I went to my coach for another marker. He (naturally) asked where mine got off to. “Andy nicked my pen,” I replied. He immediately burst into hysterical laughter, and then nudged the girl at the bar next to him. “Listen to this American try to use Scottish slang!” They both thought it was a riot. I immediately ordered another drink.
• The next bar, Outback, was where we met up with the women’s basketball team, who were already pretty sauced. This was clear by just how badly they were failing at karaoke, which apparently is a national pasttime in Scotland. I laughed to myself as I ordered a rum and Coke, and was paying the barkeep when the team captain tapped me on the shoulder. “You’re singing next.” Oddly enough, by this time I was feeling pretty good, so the prospect of embarrassing myself in front of so many girls didn’t bother me one bit. I asked if I could at least pick my own song. “Sure,” he said, confused by my sudden enthusiasm. But I knew exactly what to sing. And once the first few notes started playing, the whole place was jumping, girls were dancing all up in my business, and I was belting it out for all I was worth. I think I did Stevie proud (at least I didn’t forget the words like those idiot Jonas Brothers).

So remember WAYYYYY back up there when I mentioned something about being sick? After my moment in the limelight, I walked back over to the bar to order myself another drink and was pleasantly surprised to find the captain had one ready for me. He clapped me on the back – “Good work, Pope” – and introduced me to the girl standing next to him. I don’t remember her name (for reasons that will become clear in a moment), so let’s just call her Stupid Bitch Face, or SBF. Now, I should have known SBF was trouble since she was wearing a black leather jacket when it was already 4,000 degrees inside the bar, but I was still riding high off of my kick-ass Stevie Wonder impersonation, so it went right over my head. Anyway.

I say “Hello, I’m Michael” and extend my hand. By way of reply, SBF looks at me, licks her palm, and proceeds to RUB IT ALL OVER MY GODDAMN FACE.

Now, I don’t advocate hitting women, but if anyone needed a crash-course in Punchology at that moment, it was this Joey-Ramone-wannabe. The captain’s laughing again, she smirks and turns back to her drink, I grab mine and get as far away from her as possible. I keep it that way for the rest of the evening, and everything seems fine. Two days later, I’m hacking up a lung in the shower. Fuck my life.

- Pope

ABM: Now with More Ballin’, Shotcallin’

Apologies again for the disturbingly long time between posts, but there’s really been nothing going on as of late. It was out of kindness that I decided to spare you, my loyal reader(s), from the Boring that has decended upon me. Of course, I could always update you on the weather or something like that, but I’m sure if you think hard enough you can guess what it is. And besides, who do I look like? Mister-goddamn-Wizard? (don’t answer that)

So I’ve been waiting for something worthwhile to happen in the interim, and it appears I can finally reveal this without fear of jinx-ing myself: I made the 2nd team for the Stirling Basketball Club! *blows party horn*

No doubt many of you (especially the ones who have seen me play) are wondering just how bad the talent pool around here is if someone like me, a rejected extra from White Men Can’t Jump, is able to make the 2nd team. Let me assure you: I am in no way starting material. On a team of 10 guys, I’d say I’m somewhere around 8th or 9th (and one guy didn’t even play today because he was sick). But still. Organized basketball! With uniforms and everything! I’ll try to get a picture of me up in all my shooty-hoops glory (and yes Ryan, you’d better believe I’m wearing my green headband) as soon as our first official game.

Today, however, was an exhibition against the 1st team. Obviously they crushed us; of that there was no doubt from the onset. It might have had something to do with them having practiced as a team already, or the fact that our tallest guy was only two inches above their shortest, but I digress. We fought them tooth and nail until the end of the first quarter, which was when we all seemed to realize at once that while the 1st team had spent the past week practicing, we had spent ours at the bottom of a pint glass. What resulted was more steals and break-away lay-ups than I care to remember, and all of a sudden our 2-point defecit had expanded to 20.

But hey! Your favorite blogger (me) managed to get 2 points, 4 rebounds and a steal! That’s something a certain other red-head can’t claim. Now if only he would stop saying he’s going to “grind my bones to make his bread” and let me grab that golden goose, I could wish for the ability to drive the left-hand side. And chicas. Lots and lots of chicas.

- Pope 

(p.s. – If you read this, please comment. More comments = more frequent posts. And you thought the Internet was all candy, cookies and fetish porn. Take, take, take, that’s all you do)

The Absence of the Absent-Minded

So yeah. It took a little longer for me to update this thing than I would have liked, but you can probably appreciate the fact that I’ve been quite busy this past week. Thanks for continuing to check up on me, the few of you who did (THIS SITE HAS STATS! I KNOW WHERE YOU PEOPLE HAVE BEEN!).

Anyway, I have a treat for those foolish few who have stuck around (unfortunately, it’s not that German chocolate I promised you. Not yet): PICTURE POST! It’s going to be quite a long one (I’ve had my camera on me for a week straight), so let’s just get right to it.

A free bus tour was offered on Wednesday, and since I had no classes that day I figured what the hell. Our first stop was Dunblane, a little town about 5 mins outside of Stirling. The main attraction for the town is the cathedral, which dates back to the 13th century. Not pictured: the literal HUNDREDS of gravestones filling the church grounds. There are probably more graves than members at this point. Jesus Saves, indeed.

Bummer.

Our next stop was Bannockburn, site of the eponymous Battle of Bannockburn. In 13-something-or-other, this was where Robert the Bruce, famous King of Scots, fought and defeated Edward II and his not-so-merry men of the English Army. The statue lies at the top of a large hill overlooking a vast open plain, and is supposedly where both sides camped the night before the big battle. When we arrived, the weather was impeccable and the sun smiled warmly on this large patch of earth, casting a fuzzy glow on the grass even as a red-hot torrent of blood flowed just under the surface.

The statue itself was incredibly well-detailed. It gave me a sort of uneasy feeling just looking at it...

...eheh...

"NO!! I, POPE, AM NOW VIGGO!!" Super creepy. I guess to be a successful king, it's all in the scowl.

Quickly retreating to the buses before demonic possession could set in, we were brought back to town (it was a free tour, after all) for one last stop - Airthrey Castle, which sits at the top of Stirling. The charter bus squeezed its way up the narrow, stone-laid streets; I helped it along by simulateously sucking-in and consciously willing the vehicle to transform into something much smaller, like it was an episode of the Magic School Bus. The castle was okay, I guess (I spent more time at the ice-cream van stationed outside), but this baby caught my eye as we climbed the hill, and I could feel it calling out to me. I had to take a closer look. From my limited knowledge of European cars (and by looking at the insignia on the rear) I determined it to be a Lotus Exige. Wiki says they're only ~150 inches from stem to stern, stand about 46 in. tall, and weigh just a smidge over 2k lbs. MY QUEEN! DOMINATE MEEEEEEEE!

I couldn't resist taking this picture. If only the nail salon were open, I would have run inside and given the proprietor a big hug. Puns are alive and well in Stirling!

Fast-forward to Saturday, and a (quite hungover) Pope drags himself out of bed and braves the suddenly-chill weather (the first since my arrival) to attend a rugby match between the local Stirling County RFC and their hated rivals (DISCLAIMER: may not be actual rivals) Aberdeen. The event's website said that student tickets were only 3 pounds, but upon arrival I found people were simply walking in through the wide-open front gate. Now normally I'm totally against taking advantage of situations where I feel certain organizations are cheated out of my hard-earned money, but in the end I decided it would be best not to make a scene and just go with the flow. One must do as the Romans do, you know.

Oh no! The star player for Stirling is down on one knee near mid-field! What sort of gut-wrenching injury could have befallen our hero? ...Oh, he just needed to re-seat his contact lense. Rugby: a terrible cyclone of testosterone and fury that consumes everything in its path. Stirling won, by the way. At least I think they did. They seemed the most happy once the match was over. Unless rugby is like when I played basketball in the 3rd grade, when I knew we were going out for pizza no matter how well we did.

NAM! I FOUND YOU THAT DRAGON YOU WANTED!

It was a long bus ride to Alva for the Scotland Food Festival. Is there a world record for the fastest 150-yard run with your hands firmly gripping your crotch?

Alva is famous for this wonderful hiking path up into the mountains called Alva Glen. Unfortunately, we were more concerned with getting our fill of free whiskey samples at the Food Festival than sightseeing, so we decided to save the hike for another day. But this stump near the entrance had some mysterious aura about it...I felt I had to take a closer look.

Well that's queer. There seems to be something carved into the stump. Maybe if I get just a little closer...

I think I can make out the carving now. Is that...

OH GOD IT'S MR. HANDS!! EVERYONE COVER YOUR ASSHOLES AND RUN!!!

So that should just about fill you all in on what I’ve been up to this past week. I barely escaped Alva Glen without being anally raped by the ghost of Mr. Hands (unless you’re REALLY curious, don’t click on that) and I haven’t managed to drink myself to death quite yet (though with Foster’s being as cheap as it is here, I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later). I promise not to go another week without at least putting something new up here, so don’t give up on me yet. Oh, and remember to keep checking my Flickr page for more photo-y goodness in the meantime. Cheers.

- Pope

PICKTURSZ.

Good evening from Scotland. Now that I’ve got my internet situation squared away, I should have updates humming along fairly regularly. Pay no attention to the timestamp at the end of each post, by the way – I don’t have the patience to bother with timezones other than my own you’ll never know exactly how much of my time I’m wasting on all two of you readers, and that’s just one less thing we all have to worry about.

Side note: The American Dollar BLOWS. If you want an idea of just how bad the exchange rate is, picture the price of a Big Mac. Now double it. Then, as you are reaching into your pocket for change, the Queen of England appears out of nowhere, laces up a size 13 steel-toed boot, and lays waste to your ass-end like she’s Jan-fucking-Stenerud. Your coins fly everywhere, and the entire line groans a collective look at this goddamn American as you struggle in vain to tell the difference between a pound, half-pound, 20 pence, 10 pence, 5 pence and 2 pound when NO TWO COINS ARE THE SAME (EVEN THE ONES OF EQUAL DENOMINATION). Thank god that pennies are just as worthless no matter where on earth you are.

I’ve set up a flickr account (here) where I’ll post all the pictures I take on this trip, and if you look carefully at the right side of this page the three latest photos I’ve added should be displayed. To that end, I won’t post every single one of them here – just the ones I find particularly amusing / of interest. Today’s theme is funny signs (and this is just from the first day!): Fantastic. More problems. I guess I can’t upload images to this blog at the moment? Or possibly ever? The verdict’s still out on that last one. Anyway, just hit up that link and check out the photos I’ve taken so far, and if anyone knows anything about blogging on WordPress, please use the email in the “About” section to let me know what I’m doing wrong. It’s time for another Red Stripe (440ml four-pack of tallboys on sale at Tesco! Drinking in metric is fun!)

- Pope

(Don’t) Mind the Gap

Sorry for the large gap in posts, people. I’m still working on getting regular internet access here in Anne Frank’s attic. So here’s your tl,dr summary of the past two days:

• Flying out of Chicago, I sat next to some girl named Brenda…or Brooke…or something. I don’t usually make a point of listening to people who ramble on about their degree in horticulture, pronounce “volume” as “valium” and travel with their own copy of The Wizard’s Bestiary.
• From London to Glasgow, the man (or blob) next to me actually had to buy two seats, and thank god there was that extra space between us since that was about as close as I could be to him without being asphyxiated by the mustard gas fumes emanating from his arms legs neckfat chinfat ENTIRE BODY. When he folded his arms in his lap, they were at eye-level. I’m already loving this country.
• My flat is decent enough. Showering was an adventure, seeing as how everything there is apparently operated by flipping a switch of some kind. Outlets, water tap, oven. I bet when I bring some girl home from a night out, and she undresses, there’s a switch involved, too.
• Met a few other guys from various parts of the U.S. over the course of the day, and we all went out pub-hopping (that sounds dirty) and to explore the city. Last thing I remember, it’s 2am and we’re at some dingy karaoke bar called Rob Roy’s tearing through the songbook trying to find “Livin’ on a Prayer”. Had my first Guinness of the trip. Messed myself. Stole the pint glass.
• FISH AND CHIPS >>>>> JIMMY JOHN’S when it comes to drunk food. Holy cow.

Anyway, I’ll have some pictures up in the next couple of days. Is the country really as bland and colorless as you’d expect? You’ll just have to come back to find out. Or use Google. Whatever.