Quite early,
Another hike today, to Arthur's Seat this time. I can smell the mud and grass on my shoes like when I played soccer. I don't bend over to sniff them, because that would be stupid. The smell leaves the shoes and floats through the air to my nose. I do not bring this up for the olfactory sensation alone.
Here is my story about rugby:
Three of us went to Murrayfield stadium on Saturday night to see a rugby game. The game began with fanfare and three tenors. My Australian flatmate sang with them. Waltzing Matilda, because the gold and green Wallabies were playing. Good on ya. There was a flyover by a jet, but because it was night and therefore dark in the air that the jet needed to support its weight, it was louder than it was impressive.
At halftime, the announcer's Scottish accent told me and the others in the stadium that because it was Guy Fawkes day, we would be treated to a fireworks show set to the music of Kill Bill. He said Kill Bill very enthusiastically, but not enough that I couldn't tell he was faking.
Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the British Parliament a long time ago but they caught him. Then, they hanged him. Then, they drew and quartered him. Then, they burned him. Now, they celebrate his death by getting drunk and making things explode. There's also a big straw man built somewhere that they burn. Every year. The man is supposed to be him, Guy Fawkes. When I die, I want to be buried on the moon.
The second half was more interesting, because Scotland actually scored. Scotland is just about the worst rugby playing nation in some official group of rugby playing nations. They lost.
We decided to walk home because we were feeling intrepid. We decided to walk the same the direction as the buses that said From City because we were feeling intrepid. We didn't make it home and after about a half hour, we took the bus.
oy oy oy,
walter