I’ve got a new prized possession, and no matter how much you make fun of me for it, I will still love it. It’s a sweater. Not just any sweater. It’s a handmade sweater that makes me look like a granny and  smell like a sheep farm. I asked someone about the….fragrance.  She said that it was the oils in the wool, but hey, it sheds water and keeps me warm. Plus I’m sort of getting used to the smell. It’s comforting, like hot tea in rain or hot pies in rain or hot fish and chips in rain. All of which I’ve consumed during rain in this sweater.

Fish and chips. Those words alone can make me ravenous. I think that I could live off of fish and chips. It’s terrible. I’ve never eaten some much fried anything before–and I’m from the South! We deep-fry Oreos! (well, not me personally, but it’s been done) But back to fish and chips. The thought of a hot, deep-fried, crispy piece of haddock as big as my head dunked in tartare sauce and served with finger-licking, lip-smacking chips–I am almost tempted to leave my warm bed and sneak out to a 24 hour Chip Shop. Almost. It’s cold out there, and I’m tired.

We took the ferry from Mallaig to Skye Island today. Now I think I know what Johann David Wyss and Robert Louis Stevenson must have pictured in their minds as they crafted the islands in their books–a murky beast rising out of the choppy sea, a mist hovering over the top…

Ok, enough of the lame description. But seriously, Skye Island was a murky beast rising.  

It was spectacular. I’ve never seen such astounding landscape–anywhere. It’s all so wild and untamed. The wind is fierce–if I hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning I would have been blown away. No, really, I had to brace myself. The beaches here are incredible–craggy and untamed. I just want to sit and watch the surf break on the rocks, but then I realize that my feet are blocks of ice, it’s raining, and the ferry is leaving. So I can’t linger.  But let’s just say it’s a good thing that I had my new smelly sweater, or I would have been severely cold.

The weather in Scotland changes so quickly. The locals say that if you don’t like the weather, wait 20 minutes and it will change. And as crazy as it sounds, it’s true. Today on Skye it changed 5 times in an hour. Blazing sun to dark rain to blazing sun to dark rain to mildly sunny. Fine when you’re indoors watching it, but it’s a whole ‘nother game when you’re on top of a ferry.

I think I’ve eaten my weight in pies. Steak pies. Mince pies. Fish pies. I would probably eat anything in pie form, at this point. But my pants still fit, which is a minor miracle, the way I’ve been eating. I’m not sure if I would know how to cope without a breakfast of toast, porridge, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, eggs, coffee, and juice. I look at a box of cereal now and think, “Ok, now what comes next?”

In Ayr right now, staying with some old family friends, Noel and Moya. They’re Irish, but have lived here for 30 years, preaching at the village church. Let’s just say that the prayer before dinner gave ample time for the steak pie to cool off a bit.

Well, it’s getting late and I need to get some rest before we attack Glasgow tomorrow. Home of Charles Rennie Mackintosh–look him up, you’ll like him.