Fortunate I am, dear readers to be back on American soil now, mayhap bloodied but unbowed,  having barely escaped with my life from the wilds of Europe and bonnie Scotland with many a tale to recount, strange and terrible, glorious and awe-inspiring.  All the children of my village, and the adults as well, gather around me now wide-eyed in the local pub to hear the tales of my adventures abroad, which grow taller with each telling.  They cringe with horror, as indeed I did myself, when they hear me tell of almost being slain by a pack of wild Haggis on the moors of Scotland.  How the strange rolling beasties appeared from out of nowhere over the hill and spun towards me, their sharp teeth gnashing, pure hate in their piggy little eyes.  I could see that they were out for my life’s blood.  I should have known they were about because their stench preceded them, but I thought that was just the little pit I came across earlier with the hand-written sign saying “Highland Outhouse” over it. Continue Reading