In days of yore and yonder past, if a gent really fancied you, he’d bring back wood and game as sustenance for your culinary cave fire or offer help disembraking from the carriage. :kiss1: What, you wonder, is the modern day Order of the Garter equivalent? According to my guy, it’s whipping out the ol’ Woolite Gel and gettin’ down to business…with, ahem, the unmentionables. Yes, it’s true that while in Europe Mr. Q really did as the Europeans do and handwashed each of my lacy-racies in our barbie-sized bathroom sink. :redhead: Oh and a few pairs of stinky, dirty socks too.

Every relationship has milestones…for some it is the first overnight slumberparty stay. For others, it’s the inaugural joint purchase of articles ranging from a supermarket potroast to a lawnmower. For me, one was watching my Highland honey gladly scrub and ring out EACH of my panty pairs (twice) and tenderly put them on our hotel heater to dry. The act of stepping outside himself (with nose pinched) to do something sub-Brahim meant more to me than any roses and $2,000 Liberty shopping spree ever could. He not only touched my undies, he touched my heart. I therefore nominate him for scrub-a-dub-dub sainthood. And give him latitude for his frequent bodily eruptions. Hail RJQ! Remind me never to travel on a trip longer than W’s attention span without him.

With Love and Detergent Bubbles,
TLRL

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Murder, madness, mayhem and frequent decapitation…this is Edinburgh, City of the Dead. For me, it represents Amityville Horror on steroids. Picturesque though it is, when darkness falls there’s a ghost story or haunted catacomb to be had around EVERY corner. Believe me, I know, because my luv and I have been on every cruel and ghoul tour this mad plaid metropolis has to offer! Edinburgh, I learned, has a bloodthirsty history chocked full of witchcraft, graverobbing, political treachery, senseless murder and abject torture. Daily specials on the punishment menu through the ages included thumbscrews, groin saws, rats and cats gnawing through human flesh for escape, drowning with ropes and stones and my personal favorite… boiling in a cauldron of lead. Escape is not an option wee lassie. No citizen, royal or common, were immune: from Mary Queen of Scots to the lady of the evening known by the same name who was killed by the notorious bodysnatchers Burke and Hare.

Of all the tales gruesome tales told by broguishly theatrical tour guides, that of the Burke and Hare duo takes the Dunkirk cake. Lacking all morals and hygiene, these partners in crime estinguished the life of 18 people by sticking their fingers in the nasal cavities of unsuspecting victims and slowly suffocating them to death, only to sell their corpses for a hefty 10 pounds to Dr. Knox’s flourishing University dissection shop in the heart of medical district. Religious strife and the sardine-like tenement crowding caused by unimaginable poverty led to other horrific catastrophes in which thousands upon thousands of Edinburgh’s people died. Lucky for me (ahem), I have a BF who fancies dark, dank, drippy dungeons so we got to see a good sampling of these reknowed death destinations. I must confess to legs a’quaking in the mud and a face palour of Victorian white. Despite the spookiness factor, I can proudly say that I am one of the few (with the exception of the Ghostbusters) to pro-actively seek out the paranormal in Edinburgh’s tremulous graveyards and in the infamous Coventar’s Prison. .. To boldly go where many a scratching, bruising poltergeist HAS gone before. Yikes! Come to think of it, I’d better wash that haunted cemetery mud off my boots just to be safe.

Reporting Live From the Musty Depths of Scotland’s Past,
TLRL

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