Why I Am An Idiot # (I've Lost Count)

I went to Edinburgh last weekend. I love Edinburgh. It's got great bars, great food, it's a cool mix of old and new, and the Scottish accent is fucking hot. It is on my top five places to live, even though it's bloody cold.

So I drove in on Saturday, parked my car at my mate's place, and set off to meet said friend at the local pub.

The Scottish are, generally, a friendly bunch. When I lived in Glasgow I could barely walk down the street without someone wanting to stop me for a chat. Or sell me The Big Issue. But mainly just have a chat.

So imagine my surprise when , traipsing through the streets of Edinburgh, I was being met with angry, hostile glares. And mutterings from locals. I was concerned. Did I have a big "I Heart England" tshirt on? No. Was I wearing a sandwich board proclaiming "Robert Burns Sucks"? No. "William Wallace Deserved What He Got"? Again, no. I was dressed quite normally in jeans, a tshirt and a jacket.

It wasn't until someone made a rude comment about my Irish luck coming to an end I realised the problem.

Ireland were playing Scotland in the rugby that night. And I was flitting through Edinburgh with my warm, comfortable, bright green winter jacket on.

I spent the rest of the night shivering in my cardigan, with my jacket shoved unceremoniously into my bag.

I Have So Much To Say

... but I can't get the right (or write?) words out.

I mean, it's all here.

I'm in love.

I have an exciting new job.

I feel "at home" in London.

And yet... nothing. No words come to me. The best I can do is some Bridget Jones-esque ranting about what will happen when it becomes clear I am in love with a man who has no interest in me. Eugh, derivative much?

Will this block never cease??