Elaine seems on the verge of tears as we enter the hotel dining room. She is still wearing that awful hat that she wore to her nephew’s wedding. What a disaster with young Johnnie, the groom’s brother, having to be rushed to hospital because he is allergic to the trout mousse. Sometimes, I don’t get Elaine’s family. They are disorganised .I am ready for a stiff drink and a good dinner.
“Elaine, don’t you have a handkerchief? Could you please stop sniffling?”
“Okay, Frank, are you satisfied? I know about the crisis with Johnnie. And you don’t have to be so bloody unsympathetic. Poor kid -- such a sweetie. Anyway, we got through the wedding. Maybe my brother should never have come back to Scotland. But he had this chance with her family’s business and Maud encouraged him.”
“Probably a mistake. Your brother was doing well in Canada.”
“Anyway, we are on holiday now. So why don’t you just relax? I wanted to stay in that hotel down the road. You embarrassed me the hell out of me when you said ‘Let’s get out of here. Come on!’ The receptionist was flabbergasted.”
“When she announced that they were going to pipe in the haggis, I freaked out. Remember Edmonton, that neighbour who used to practice non-stop?”
“The Irish got the bagpipes from the Spanish who got them from the Moors. The Irish couldn’t stand them so they gave them to the Scots who got sucked in. I came over from Canada to Scotland once and they had all these Highlanders in kilts marching through the glen playing ‘Amazing Grace.’ It was on the Hit Parade. Pretty neat.”
“Elaine, do you mind? Men who wear skirts? Give me a break. Like you have been in Canada for years and you come over here and turn into a piece of emotional mush. You are not even Scottish. You grew up in Northern Ireland.”
“They call us the Scots-Irish so I do have feelings for this place. And you should be aware of that if you took any interest at all in my history. Not that you have any great knowledge of your own.”
“Okay, enough already with the emotions. Don’t you think that you should remove your hat?”
“I paid fifty guineas for it. God knows when I will ever get a chance to wear it again.”
“So do you want a drink? I am going to have a Scotch. One thing that the Scots do know about—how to make a good whiskey. I am thinking of a Glenlivet.”
“Even the smell of it makes me sick. I will have a glass of dry sherry.”
The waiter took our order; he brought our drinks and presented the menu. I ordered roast beef and Elaine went for lamb, mint sauce, new potatoes and new green peas. Her eyes filled with tears as she told me how the lamb dinner made her think of her happy childhood. She was beginning to get on my nerves.
When we were first married, travelling with her was so much fun. She took everything in her stride. Everything was a huge joke. I remember driving across the prairies with her. Back then, rest stops were non-existent. If nature called, one had to keep a sharp lookout for a leafy grove. Otherwise, one could be seen peeing in the ditch from fifty miles away. A thought that made us laugh a lot. Whatever happened to those happy carefree days? I guess we got older, ran out of patience. I hope that this is the last trip to Scotland. Driving on the other side of the road exhausts me.
Meanwhile, Elaine is going on about how our tastes in food differ.
“You are so unimaginative. Hamburger, roast beef, chicken and a roast of pork was a bit adventurous. Now I ate liver, kidneys, lamb, goose, rabbit although I never ate rabbit again after I went to live in the country. All those darling bunnies coming out to greet the sunset. One couldn’t eat Peter Rabbit. Did you read Beatrice Potter as a kid?”
“Are you losing your marbles? Like I was a prairie kid. Out there with my pal Bill and our beebie guns. I tell you that we downed a few rabbits.”
“Whatever. The dinner is good and I love the wine.”
“Yeah, great. Oh-oh, don’t tell me—here comes the waiter with the twinkling candle...”
“Darling, yesterday was your birthday—I didn’t forget.”
“I wish to God you had! Birthdays are for little kids. Elaine, don’t tell me that you are going to cry again. There, I blew out the candle. Just to cheer you up. You loved your birthdays in Mexico.”
“I know, we were there four times for my birthday. Remember how they would come to our table and serenade me?”
“Beats the bagpipes. But Scotland--I love watching the countryside roll by. What is that song: “ take my hand and let’s go roaming, through the heather on the hill?” I think that we should order a Drambuie. Just to end this perfect dinner. Some things the Scots do well—except they fell for that Irish trick . Bagpipes-- major mistake.”
“Drambuie—the favourite drink of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Triple distilled Scotch. Now Bonnie Prince Charlie—och, never mind, I’ll tell you about him in the morning.”
“Don’t you think it is time to remove that fifty guinea hat?”
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