So, now after conquering London, so to speak, Deb and I were off to do some’wee’ damage in Scotland. And you are invited to come along.

THE SEARCH FOR MR. ADEQUATE
Part XXV
By SUSAN SILVER

Deb and I had managed to stay together in a hotel room in London for five days and still be speaking to each other! Now, on our way to Edinburgh, we hadn’t had any disagreements at all and I, for one, was enjoying having someone to share the adventures with.

Okay, there was one little thing. Deb, as you know by now is a friendly, well very very very friendly and peppy type. I am less … both. Deb is also just a tad like Diane Keaton’s character in Annie Hall in that she too had a “Granny” that she refers to a lot plus she says things like, “all righty then.” By the fifth day and the twenty-third (but who’s counting?) “all righty then” I asked her in a gentle way … to stop saying it or I’d kill her.

She responded by saying “okey dokey.” And so she said that … for the rest of the trip! Be careful what you wish for, friends. Be very very very careful.
Before I’d left America, I’d written in the column that the only Scot I knew had done nothing for us on the upcoming trip to his homeland.

Well, a total stranger had written me that wanted to introduce us to some of her contacts so that we would have a great time in a city she loved. Can you imagine? This angel was named Rachel Weingarten and has a business called “Good to Know” and boy is she! She puts things and people together and Deb and I are forever grateful as she made our trip extra special.

But had we known no one, it still would have been terrific, because the Scots are among the sweetest people we’d ever encountered and it is a lovely place.

However, before we landed, there was a tiny problem on the flight. Deb who also wanted an aisle seat was across from mine and since there was no one in my row I was planning to stretch out. But the man behind me had a cough that sounded somewhat like Camille’s … towards the end. And so I moved to the back of the plane to get away from it. I hate backs of planes as I feel like a sardine and I am a little claustrophobic.

As we were about to land, I went back to my original seat and saw that Mr. TB had moved into it and was no longer coughing so it probably was just a ruse to get rid of me and have more room. I was not amused. Deb had established a bond with him and the people next to her as she is wont to do (plus the stewardesses and baggage handlers) and seemed almost sorry to see me come back. But I’m probably imagining that.

The first terrific person we met in Edinburgh was our cabby, Derrick. He had the great Scottish accent and was very well traveled, mostly in the U.S. He told us things to do and see and wanted to make sure we went to the Museum of Childhood which sounded like fun to me. (Deb wasn’t into it but said yes anyway, though she wasn’t going to go.) And I enjoyed him so much that I gave him a five pound note which comes to about ten dollars … as a tip on a twenty dollar ride. Derrick said, oh no, it’s too much. And Deb was aghast as I am usually the one who was holding the line on the tips. When I realized what I’d done, I just said “why don’t you pick us up to take us back at the end of the trip and we’ll stiff you then.” Much laughter, though I meant it, and we took his card.

That afternoon after we’d checked into our room at the Sheraton Grand which had a view of the Castle of Edinburgh, we went for a walk to acclimate ourselves and lo and behold, along came Derrick on his way home. He took us on a little city tour, free of charge, and dropped us at a fun lunch place. That tip was the best $10 we ever spent and went along with Deb’s karmic view of “putting things out in the Universe” so that you can ask the Universe for other things … like parking places which she does a lot. I myself would rather ask for other things like a new husband.

That night, on the way back to our room we saw a very attractive bunch of Italians who were checking in. One tall, interesting looking guy gave me a smile. Perhaps things were looking up … menwise. Little did we know the full story. Keep reading.

The next morning we heard from Rachel’s friends. One was the head of the Tourism Office and was coming over with free passes for tours and sites. (They were told I was a journalist … so we had press passes which got us in everywhere! Well … I am … sort of. This is my journal after all.) And the other, Lisa, was a famous lawyer or as they call it ‘advocate,’ complete with wig and robe, and had arranged a very private dinner at a fabulous restaurant which was a little ways out of town. She would pick us up that night and take us as well.

We went on the city tour where they had a Sean Connery soundalike recorded voice doing the narration (or maybe he needs the work.) We got off at various points of interest. One of the best was The Royal Yacht Britannia which is permanently berthed at an Ocean Terminal which was turned into a shopping mall. We loved the ship and it got us ready for our own transatlantic sail to come.

Me, on the Queen’s couch. I’m sure she doesn’t mind.
That night Lisa, sans wig and robe, and her husband Blair picked us up and drove us to The Water Tower, a restaurant unlike any we’d ever experienced and a real treat. Considered to be the oldest building of its kind in Scotland, this authentic water tower was purchased in 1988 by an architect Gerry Goldwyre and his wife Susan and converted into a home which has won all sorts of awards. Then, turning award winning chef as well, he remade the cottage next door into a restaurant.

There were just the six of us and we had some drinks and were having a lovely private dinner when Deb suddenly lost her mind. A little too much single malt I guess and that’s what happens. In the midst of a discussion about babies in which I said they all look like Winston Churchill, Deb suddenly launched into a really graphic and wince producing account of her baby’s birth! And how because of forceps damage, the baby did not look like Churchill, but more like Quasi Moto. This was done complete with grotesque facial grimaces and excruciating grunts.

It was a twenty-hour labor and as she was headed towards the second hour, Blair looked white and Gerry was clutching his hands in between his legs. Then, she stood, lifting one leg … she said later to demonstrate the doctor having to lean into her to pull the baby out as it was caught beneath her pubic bone. That’s right folks. The words ‘pubic bone,’ not heard before in all the years of the Water Tower, I’d wager, were repeated three, count ‘em three times.

I shouted “and” repeatedly (which those of you who read me last week realize was my code with her to stop talking too intimately to strangers, but it did no good.) In fact, even my waving of arms and trying to pull her into her seat wasn’t working so I wrestled her to the ground and stuffed a napkin in her mouth. Well, not really, but I pointed out to her that the men were close to fainting and she realized she’d better stop, but I swear another “pubic bone” was heard before the episode was over and everyone was gasping for air and laughing so hard we couldn’t stop.

On the drive home, Blair didn’t say a word and I’m sure will never volunteer to accompany his wife to dinner with any more strangers from America.

The next day when I told Deb of her behavior, she said it sounded sort of familiar but she’d hoped it was only a nightmare.

We then went on the train and bus to the town of St. Andrews and the famous golf course. On the same train were the Italians who were staying at our hotel. The good looking one smiled at me but was on his cell phone the entire journey so the only time we got to talk was to say hello as we pulled into the station. They said they were at a bank conference and would see us back at the hotel perhaps for a drink later. Since there were a few nice looking men in the bunch plus “mine” … she said proprietarily … we were happy and looking forward to it.

This unfortunately, was the only day of rain but we still had fun in the little town and a great lunch at the club overlooking the greens where hardy golfers were playing. On the way back, we bumped into the Italians who were going back early because of the weather also. Deb talked to one of the guys and I talked with “Mine.” He had lived in America and spoke good English and was rather interesting.

We got on the train and they all went ahead and then mine came back and sat across from us. This is looking up. Not!! It turns out he is married, but also has a girlfriend, whom he had been talking to on the phone before. They talk about fifty times a day! Or maybe it was fifteen. His English wasn’t that good after all. And he then spent the next hour telling us every little detail about the romance. After I’d gotten over my disappointment, I kind of found it interesting. To hear about this from a man’s point of view. Deb just thought he was a pig. I declined his drink offer for later that night. He seemed surprised.
The last night we ate at a charming little place called The Witchery, in the special Secret Garden room. It was ultra romantic and in fact a young and nervous couple got engaged next to us. We got depressed. But were happy for them. It is the perfect place for a sexy adventure with little hideaway rooms upstairs and maybe someday I’ll go back … with someone else … like a guy! But not an Italian.

The next day Derrick dropped us off at the airport. He hugged us so we did get some physical contact. We found our wee taste of Scotland quite delicious. Except for the haggis which I tasted.

Next … the cruise on the Queen Mary II. Oh yeah, and I did find one guy in a uniform.

Respond to susan@newyorksocialdiary.com
©Susan Silver, 2005

The Search for Mr. Adequate

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May 20, 2005, Number 25

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© 2006 David Patrick Columbia & Jeffrey Hirsch/NewYorkSocialDiary.com