He Who Hoots With The Owls…

He Who Hoots With The Owls...
Image: Lindsey T

Yesterday was a white wash and it was all my own fault. I take full blame—well, most of it—and accept the part I played in this particular downfall.

Wednesday night was one of those nights you just don’t want to end. The banter and laughter was pure and raucous, the adventures were exciting, and the drinks never ending. You can see where I‘m going with this.

I spent the night with some friends of mine who are over from Virgina USA on holiday (that’s vacation). I say friends, though actually I’d only met two of them in the flesh before, the others I knew through a mutual friend (a member of their family) so the stories of the past 20 years have flown through to each other via the middle man. There’s also been a wedding and numerous late night drunken phone calls spanning the Atlantic. So you can imagine how good it was to finally catch up with them all face to face. To tell you the truth, it was more like going on a night out with a distant leg of my own family.

They arrived on Wednesday afternoon via Schipol and after getting settled and something to eat, we headed out for beers. Several bars on The Royal Mile played host to our merry little gang before we headed down to the Grassmarket to continue our session. Stockbridge followed (your guess is as good as mine) and before we knew it closing time had descended. Not to be beaten, though, we headed to that popular little hole in the ground called Fingers Piano Bar.

Beer, whisky and vodka flowed like water from a fireman’s hose and it didn’t stop until I got home just before 4am. It was the next day, yesterday (or later that same day depending how you look at it), that I hit the wall of pain. I was bad. I was very bad. It was lunchtime before I could even move and mid-afternoon before I was able to walk without feeling as though the walls were trying swallow me up. To top it all off, my clothing nightmare came to a head when Gail, unable to decide what to buy me to wear on holiday, dragged me out clothes shopping. Oh my, the pain, the pain.

That said, it was all worth it. It was a fantastic night out and I just hope it’s not another ten years before we do it all again. After a ridiculous oversized MacDonald’s on the way home, with my bags overflowing with t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, I began to feel like my old self again.

Today I have a lot to do: pack my bags, get everything in order for when I’m away, take care of some paperwork and errands, and try to do it all without stressing my wife out too much. My book order, AMERICA LIBRE, hasn’t arrived yet, nor has my new notebook I was going to use while on holiday. I may have to just buy one on the way home.

Tomorrow will be my final post until August. I‘ll try and make it a good one.

Tally ho!

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About Colin Galbraith

Thriller author, music fan, St Mirren fan, fluff chucker, rabbit tamer, outstanding fake faller. Loves cannoli.
This entry was posted in Edinburgh, Family, Food, Drink and Bevvy, Travel and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to He Who Hoots With The Owls…

  1. I feel as though everyone on the planet is going on vacation except me. 😦

    But have a GREAT time. Can’t wait to see your photos when you get back.

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