fate. fuck off.
A full 35 hours in transit left me tired, bedraggled, and an expert at thumb twiddling. Dougal saved me from myself at the Inverness bus station in his parents purple "van" which was not a van at all but a small two seater hatch-back. To the marina we went, and his boat we sought.

A darling boat it was, and over the next week and a half it would become my home. He took me for my first pint in a quaint little pub where I was reminded just why I liked that Scottish bastard.
He took me on his own version of a whistle stop tour of his home country. To Aberdeen and Stonehaven we went, where on the way he attempted to find a beach he had been to once when he was really hungover. We never found that beach, but after quite a bit of single lane winding roads at considerable speeds, I did feel the need to vomit out my insides, just like a good hangover. After spewing then enjoying a nice egg and toast we set off again.

Actually. You know. I'm done with this whole way of telling the story. Let's try something different.
I was so glad to leave my home and travel across the ocean. I was hoping I would find something that would change me, and alter the course of my life (which at that moment was heading towards certain destruction).
Scotland was such a beautiful place (or as I said so many times, cute). The people were kind and open, the culture inviting.
When I stepped out of the car to make my way to his home the smell of the air hit me. The sea. God how I missed that smell. Nova Scotia had pressed into me a love of it, and here I was again, so close.
His home was my retreat, and the ducks started to become my little comrades.

When we went to Aberdeen I was blown away by the simple fact that they make their hella old churches into bars. Awesome.
Some party supplies and a move to a dancier bar got me into the groove. We stayed at a friends house that night, the two boys chattering all night.
The next evening was spent comsuming entirly too much fish and chips. Next morning we were off to Edinburgh.

Looking at the sights. Blah Blah Blah.
Back in Inverness I started to get sick. So sitting in the boat for a few days watching The Mighty Boosh while he was at work. Feeding ducks, doing a bit of dishes. Content, believe it or not.
My last Friday there we spent bar hopping. I promised to match him drink for drink, and I did from most of the night, then he snuck in some scotch while I was off for a pee.

After that I decided I was done. Some folks from the seafood boat, and two American girls followed us back to the boat where more alcohol was had. The Mighty Boosh on the screen. Dougal wasted. He plopped himself on the bed, and after a few minutes I escorted everyone out. After a few failed attempts to feed him Airborne, and some unfourtunate events he was asleep and I knocked myself out.
We went to Loch Ness the next day. I've decided that I want a little cottage on the shore with a cow, a sheep, and some chickens. Lovely. We stayed up late that night, enjoying my last night the best we could.

My last day was a sad affair. We went rowing, more like he rowed and I just kept bumping into the shore line.

The end. A bus ride to Edinburgh, a phone call to release, and a night in a hostel. Back to the real world.
I'm happy that all of this happend to me. Some direction is to be had. Changes to be made.