Nuts

As in all my readers must be...

A few points to raise.

1. Why are you having a discourse in my comment section? (RHETORICAL). There are hundreds of other means to communicate, telephone, email, instant message, smoke signals, SHOUTING...
2. Reading the comments, as far as I can tell, some of you think you are responding to people who do not even read here. If you are feel the need to write something, LEAVE YOUR NAME.
3. Finally, why are you people visiting this site more than once a week...I mean I do not even visit it except to update, which, as I indicate everytime, is only on the weekends. What sort of mentalist is a daily visitor to a weekly blog?

Scotland? Scotland.

Recall when I said you had to travel by ferry between many of the islands? Well, the somewhat turbulent waters would cause the ships to toss...a bit. SO my mother took it upon herself to hold the ship together herself, the crew obviously failing in that task. Look at my father, that must be where I get my caring nature towards the opposite sex....heheheheheheh This is the Skeabost Country House Hotel, where we stayed on the way back through Skye. This is where my sister decieded that I had to get married...nice, to which my mother furthered that I needed to find a broad hipped Scottish girl....

f&%k me

This the the Cauldron of Heads, beside Skeabost, flowing onto Loch Snizort...all actual names. The history of it...the Macleods lopped the heads off of a number of their foes, tossed them into the same water the drink from...smart... And finally from Skye, the Talisker Distillery, the only whiskey distillery on the island. Now, I do not want to state the actual amount that my father dropped in the store, but...crumbs...I am still sworn to secrecy about this least my mother learn of it.

I went to see the Tempest (Shakespeare thickos) with Jean-Luc Picard himself...Patrick Stewart. It was bloody brilliant, quite funny, even though they set it within an 1930s Antarctic setting. As the story takes place on an island between Sicily and Tunisia (Look at a map) a little willing suspension of disbelief was necessary

Well, that should sate your desire for everything Alan. At the bottom of the page is a bit of creative writing which I hope no one reads. New post next weekend.

Until Tuscany,
A B

I watched a child die today.
I watched as he was swept away along the tracks, a moment before the train.
I watched and he turned, and I was the last thing he regarded.
I watched him and he told me of his life.
I watched the very first chocolate chip cookie, fresh from the oven, but never so hot as to burn.
I watched the very first bumblebee land on a flower near him, with its softness to see.
I watched the very first shivers of heat after getting in the house following a brisk winter's evening.
I wathced the very first dam built in a stream with muddy fingers and close friends.
I watched a child die today.
And I stepped after him.

Right, just to clarify, the following did not actually happen. It is only something I thought of while listening to Hans Zimmer's 'Now Here We Are'. This is for those who depressingly believe everything they read (Likey my bloody readers).