When I said that I was beyond jet lag, I was wrong. Completely wrong. I crashed hard last night, woke up at 4 AM today and struggled to sleep until a few minutes ago. I felt like 10 angry midgets came at me with baseball bats yesterday (a bit sore), but now it’s down to only four or five angry midgets. I got a few pitches out the door this morning before I went back to bed, and I have my fingers crossed. I’m starting to think that getting a new weekly column might not be realistic; I may have to pitch articles individually for a bit.
I filed a short piece on travel to Scotland yesterday for TraderDaily.com‘s daily travel update, which is how I found out my column has been banished to limbo. Since it’s unlikely that this piece will see the light of day for a long time, if ever, I’m running it here. Shed a tear for my column, and give this very brief update a read.
Don’t worry, I’ll be back on the hunt tomorrow.
No, it’s not a joke name; he’s real. In fact, the Duke is a very pleasant man who just happens to live in a castle … well, technically it’s a palace. Castles are fortified; his is not (despite the many old weapons hanging on display). I got to shake his hand and talk to him for a bit, which was cool, because I’d never met a duke before. Can’t say that any more.
Well, I didn’t get a chance to blog much last night, but I’ll get to that. I’ll get to a whole lot more now that my travel column for Trader and Dealmaker is being suspended for several months thanks to the turmoil in the publishing industry. My best to all who’ve been laid off, wherever they were writing. So, here I am, the traveling travel writer without a travel column. Fortunately, I might have found a home for my big story on this trip, so fingers crossed.
After the jump, learn more about my adventures over the past two days.
Support the troops. I am, by wearing a kilt. It was an interesting experience. I wore it “authentic,” which was an interesting experience. My nads were a lot hotter than I expected, making me wonder under which conditions one would wear a kilt. Do you let your balls broil or calves freeze? Oh, speaking of calves, feel free to salivate over mine.
Loch Leven’s larder bears the increasingly common challenge in the United Kingdom of managing against competing environmentally friendly forces. A produce farm that supplies potatoes, carrots and other vegetables both to small local customers and large retailers, the farm must balance the salient — and compelling — need for profit with perceived public pressure to keep pace with the prevailing flavor of social responsibility. Though daunting, it’s a task Rob Niven, owner of Loch Leven’s Larder, pursues zealously and with a smile.
Feeling a bit like shit, thanks to my newly developed carsickness (I still don’t know how the fuck that happened), I wasn’t thrilled to learn that we’d be taking a detour en route to the hotel. Apparently, the oldest tree in Europe is not a sight to be missed.So, here it is, in all its glory. A 5,000-fucking-year-old tree. Impressed?
Wandering the countryside in the backseat of a Land Rover, you get to know a man. Our guide, a local, is an enthusiast of American films …the popular stuff. We were talking about Patrick Swayze, and Roadhouse came up, prompting a discussion on rednecks. He was unfamiliar wit the term, soon of my colleagues offered a rather gentle explanation. Our guide paused for a moment before saying, “I wonder if there are any rednecks over here.””Yes,” I replied, “Scots.”