What ho world! A hip, hop, Happy Halloween to you all! Sam and I celebrated by eating spaghetti and pounds of Cadbury chocolate. Those of you with wee ones, I hope you had fun being cute with your children, and those without, I hope you had fun going to your adult themed Halloween parties, events that usually end with embarrassment caught on camera.

The seasons have changed here and we’re creeping (or slouching if I was feeling literary) toward the wintry doldrums of life on the Irish Sea. Sam and I have a small, portable and fake, coal fireplace that we light (plug in) before bed that manages to heat the bedroom. We’ve started calling it Bob after the Cratchit by the same name. The great thing about the new fangled electric fake coal is that we don’t have the shortage. Or the asphyxiation.

This week we had a big night out in Glasgow. I had a class on Spreadsheeting for Historians that was as lively and entertaining as it sounds. Then we popped out to a local pub for a pint of ale for our “big night out” this week. We went to a place called the Aragon, a small but clean establishment, and it would have been a good night had we not been accosted by a chatty, reasonably drunk, Glaswegian with a fondness for Americans, Coen Brothers films, and Philip Roth novels. We had a quick beer and left.

We went to my club, The Drones, for a bite and were in luck for it was Curry Night with a good special on food. Sam was pleased. Being a bit of a contrarian, I ordered pasta, as I didn’t want to follow the curry-indulged masses.

The election coverage over here has been very interesting. We’ve seen a lot of coverage on America and race. Every Yank they tend to interview comes from Texas, which isn’t the most representative state, but the sensationalized British press loves a stereotype, especially if it’s wearing a ten gallon hat. A post office clerk asked Sam the following: “Do you think America is really ready for a black president?” Needless to say it is pretty much all the Scots are talking about, or rather, all they are talking about to us.

That’s all for politics and all that rot. Most of you know my beliefs are increasingly cynical about all of that but we’re going to an all-night event at the Union to watch the returns. Its theme is “Americans go to the polls – we go to the pub.” Don’t worry – we sent in our ballots.

Talk to you soon,

Ian

Ps. For your information, I was called a Wee Man, by a wee man, to his friends, outside of the Botanic Gardens. He looked at me and Penny and said “Have you heard the one about the wee man and his wee dog.” That wee man almost got a wee glare from me.