20F cheated off of me during the inflight-trivia. I don’t know why I think that is so funny, but I do. And we dominated that trivia game. Well, I did. He tagged along on my glory of useless knowledge. LAC & Anna, seats 20E and 20F. We never spoke on the flight. Not a word. But we won trivia.

Ever noticed that your accent as an American (or rather your lack of a really interesting accent) instantly makes you inferior inside your own head? When you ask a question and someone replies in a Scottish accent, or Greek accent, or whatever–all of a sudden you feel a little inferior to speak. After all, there is NO WAY that you sound THAT GOOD when you speak. So why speak? Just nod. Mumble. Shrug and use gestures. Come on. You know exactly what I am talking about.

The first thing we stumbled on was the Edinburgh Farmer’s Market. Angel–it leaves Macon’s Saturday morning shindig in the dust. I’m sorry. But I got your yarn.

Anyway, the flight arrived an hour early (when does that happen?) so we set foot on Scottish soil around 7am. The whole day stretched out before like an glorious gift–and I needed coffee. (brief update–it’s 4:30pm now, still haven’t had any) However, the Farmer’s Market beckoned and I answered that call, Dad in tow. He had a good time looking at the castle that was perched on volcanic rock hovering over the rows of tents. I had a good time looking at everything else.

And it’s decided.

I’m moving here.

I don’t know what pushed me over the brink of “wow, this is great” to “dear heavens, I’ve found home.” Maybe the rotund man selling pork pies in the market (after all, who but a rotund person could sell meat pies?). Or the handmade soaps, including one called “Bog Myrtle”? Or the mounds and mounds of fresh baked bread and bread-treats under the one tent? Nope. I’ve decided that The Moment was when I looked up and saw the huge movable red contraption of coffee delight that proclaimed “Police Box Coffee Bars.” The side-notes read “Torchwood Industries. Time traveling alien technology. Go on–feed your soul.”

Any country that can combine coffee and Doctor Who–I’m there.

We semi-desperately tried to find a B & B. Dad was more desperate than I, as I know what true desperation is. We weren’t there yet. It was 2pm, not 2am. There’s time. We found a couple of hotels, they were full, and he was getting desperater as we went. When we finally found one–and only had to navigate across the city with those crazy-ass left-side drivers–I think he may have had a taste for what Barcelona was like. A taste. I didn’t bring it up though, although I did recognize the irony.

We’re about to head down the Royal Mile. Speaking of Royal–saw the Royal Jewels. And that’s about all I have to say about that.

It’s almost time to seek out a pub, too. I ate fresh bread and homemade blue cheese (maybe THAT was when It was Decided…) and topped it off with fresh hazelnut brioche. But that only satiates for so long.

I think we’re walking. Dad can’t handle anymore of that crazy-ass left-hand driving today. Never seen his knuckles so white.