Two dreams last night of Scots women.
In the first dream, I was on a date with the Domestic Blister, who turned out to be interested in watching me urinate while she threw sharp objects at my willy. What a crazy woman! I had a lucky escape there. In real life I think she's a willy surgeon. It all balances out.
In the second dream, I met up with Denny again. It was very easygoing, but I had to agree to travel with her and her mates to some funeral or other. We were on a ferry, and I offered to buy the first round. I had some trepidation, because in real life demure Doctor Denny turned into Mrs Hyde whenever she drank. So at the bar, I ordered her drink first (a pint of heavy), and I drink half of it while the other drinks (pints of special) were poured.
The bar seemed to have only one tap, and I got to wondering whether heavy and special were perhaps two names for the same thing. Can anyone in the blog community enlighten me?
Very soon there's to be three generations of inlaws and outlaws staying here interminably. They all happen to be feminists but to be honest that's a red herring, almost any gender or persuasion would be insufferable. Already the murderous urges are approaching the top end of the scale. Dearie fungin me!
Note to self - ask the buddhist fundamentalist if the cave on the other side of the island will be free.