St Andrews

Ok, now I know those of you who check out FB will have already seen a spate of photos from our magical trip to the other side of the Forth. But I've also been informewd that 31st May was, for some, 'Quit FB Day'. Now I'm not entirely sure what, how, when or why. Nor do I care for that matter, but just in case you do/did, here's a few more photos (they're not repetes for all avid FB users, so you can go ahead and take a peek too). They're mostly of my two favourite boys, and a couple of stinky adults.

Landscape and sunshine also feature heavily, as this was no ordinary weekend in Scotland, there was ample sunshine, and warmth, and its glory shall go down in the ages as that hallowed weekend in mid-May when Scotland was warmer than Athens. I kid you not. Songs shall be sung and poems penned hailing this day in all its splendid beauty for the Ages.

All set for a sophisticated, late supper with Dave and Heather. Note well the summer cocktail. Yes I was on antibiotics, and maybe I had some serious acid reflux post consumption, but it was worth it.

As I said, I had a bit of a funny tummy, but let it be said that Stu's portions are always outrageous and I wonder time and time again why he isn't a massive porker. If only we could harness his fat-busting energy for good.

The boyz. I miss them already.

Fred, rather awkward that he chose to piss on some dead dignatery's grave, but when you gotta go ... Roc was so jealous he didn't need to pee, the boy loves defacing shit.

Beautiful, sunny (gasp) St Andrews.

Dave and Freddles.

Ma and The Roc, just throwing stuff. H - that softball arm really comes into its own. And Roc's developing equally brawny tendancies.

C'mon, let's throw more shit into the sea mum!

And then stuff our faces with mum's sandwich. No wonder H is so skinny, she very rarely enjoys a meal to herself. Note to me: Get kid to hoover up food before I get a chance.

Stu would never EVER share his food with some lame kid.

The wonderful St Andrews Abbey ruins.

The incredibly amazing Roc.

Lovely pottery in Crail, sleepy fishing village, absolutely stunning place.

Anstruther, Stu doing the typically British thing of walking down the beach in full garb. If it's a REALLY nice day, they sometimes contemplate paddling.

Sneaking into people's backyards for a little covert camera work.

Bird mid-takeoff.

That's How We Roll

Stu and I were both verrrry close to forgetting our anniversary altogether. Luckily, I'd had the foresight to know that Stu WOULD forget, and he was presuaded to put a reminder in his phone. How fortunate for both of us, as it turns out.

So now it's been 4 years, though I like to argue that it's really only been about 2 years, because it doesn't count when you're in different countries, right? Don't tell Stu I said that.

The nose that could measure right angles.

The face that could launch a thousand tweezer commercials.

Next post, I'll show you the charming presents we gave eachother.

A Walk in the Borders

Feeling the need for some exercise in order to justify the beer and wine that would inevitably be consumed on Saturday night, Stu, Meredith 2 and I got inspired, packed ourselves a lunch, printed down some inadequate maps, and set off for Melrose.

Parked the car at Melrose, stepped out into the brisk wind (I'm being generous, it was bloody freezing), and caught a bus to Selkrik. We had decided to do a part of the 28 mile Abbey Way walk - Selkirk to Melrose, and then back to Stu's parents' cottage for the night.

Rollin in the A-Dam

Arrived safely in the A-Dam, spent 36 hours hanging with the Buff and H:Bomb, and then headed on home again. The trip back was a gruelling testament to my stingyness as I waited 45 minutes in the lashing (freezing) rain for the bus to the airport. I had been unable to check in online, something was up at Schipol, so I arrived at the airport with a certain amount of trepidation.

I was right to be nervous, and am merely thankful I'd left myself plenty of time. The lines for check-in were longer than anything I'd ever seen before - a column of people, 10 wide, streched back, snaking its way through the departures building, and then out again. I kept walking to the end of this terminally long line, fully expecting to still be in Schipol in the same line the next morning. I was actually pretty amazed at how quickly the line moved - bless Dutch efficiency.

Anyway, enough about the journey home, back to 36 hours in the A-Dam:

I arrived to scenes of devastation after the Orange Party. Of course, the garbage workers were also on strike. I don't honestly blame them.

Drum kits for lights in our hotel room! Sheer joy.

Pretty flowers.

The Buff and the Hin the Dam, by a canal.

The Dutch do some great cheese.

And ... rice ... apparently. You know me, I always dig an outdoor market. Eburger really hasn't caught on. Could it be the weather?

Canal dreaming.

Oooh, doesn't get much sexier than that. At the Erotica museum.

Penii Chair. How many penii can you see?

Ooh, Buff, you owe me big time for not putting this one on Facebook. Remember that when you encounter many unpleasant shots of yours truly! Out to dinner, after a looooong day.

Verrrrry looooong day, kicking off at 4am and ending just after 12 midnight. There may have been a vom, I'm not saying there wasn't.

Buff and H feeling the strain of the Dam.

So that's it really, more to see on facebook in the next little while, I didn't want to use the same shots for both - so check them both out.

Great times!

Love Mezzle