Instead, we decided to live off the seat of our pants and let Lucy G. find us a good place to eat. She gave us a couple of options.
Option 1.
A great pub called "The butterfly and the pig"
Traditional pub food using only locally available foods. The menu changes every week and sometimes they run out of stuff. It's well known among the hipsters. The waiters wore vintage t-shirts with American references (i.e. Berkeley, Oklahoma State football, etc.). One of their gimmicks was non-matching silverware and plates. They also have live bands play there. It's best to call ahead to get a table because they get pretty busy.
Option 2.
An Indian food place where they wear turbans AND kilts.
There really is no explanation needed. How many opportunities do you have to mix culture? I did try to do that once. It turned out horrible.
It was settled then. Me and Sean told Lucy G. that the Indian food place was it. She placed some calls to her people and they were unable to locate this Holy Grail of culture fusion. We ended up going to The butterfly and the pig. It was amazing. The price was really cheap (compared to London). I would highly recommend Lucy G. as a tour guide but apparently she got a job in fancy shmancy London and she may go away.
If you're interested in reading the menu you can click here and here. We did end up having a starter portion of haggis to share between me, Sean, Lucy G. and her roommate.
I know Lucy G. gets embarrassed when I talk about her too much. I'll just say that she was a wonderful hostess and made our Glasgow experience very enjoyable. That's it. Was that painful Lucy G.?
When we got back to Lucy G.'s parent's house, we thought it might be a good idea to get some rest. Our flight home the next morning would take off pretty early in the morning and we wanted to make sure we were there on time. The next morning we awoke to the smell of bacon. REAL bacon, none of this streaky crap we have in the land of the free. We had bacon sandwiches and juice. It was an amazing send off meal.
Fast forward to the airport. Upon arrival we were blessed with an amazing sight. Kilts. Everywhere. Lucy G. had been proven wrong. Not only were there kilts in abundance, but also silly hats with pheasant feathers sticking out the top about 4 feet in the air above them. It was magical. Lucy G. shook her head in disbelief and parked illegally to send us off.
Once inside, we realized that there were more kilts in the airport than trousers and skirts combined. The Scots were sending us off in their own way. We ran into a place that sounded more like a challenge for Sean rather than a restaurant.
I hadn't shaved so I was a little scared to fly (I am often mistaken as a terrorist when I have any kind of facial hair. For this reason, I have to show up to the airport very early when I fly). My fears were unfounded because I went right through security and into the waiting area to get onto the plane.
...or so I thought. Upon getting onto the plane, the Spanish stewardess from hell asked to see my boarding pass. I have NEVER been asked for my boarding pass once on the plane. She didn't check anyone else's except mine. I think I might have been profiled. I showed her my boarding pass and continued to find my seat.
Here's where it got fun. Between Sean and I was an empty seat. It was quickly filled by a guy named Colin. We have reason to believe Colin is a liar because as we know, his real name was Scott. Scott was really friendly. He told me all about his recent divorce and hard times. I felt for him, I really did. That's when the Spanish stewardess from hell came on the loudspeaker telling us to put on our seatbelts and blah blah blah. We were to turn off ALL electronic devices. That's when Scott let me in on a little secret.
"The Tartan Army is about to sing," Scott said.
"Sing?" I asked.
"Yes, they always sing when the plane takes off."
"Will they sing during the flight?"
"Probably."
I couldn't risk it. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. Sorry about the bad camera angles. I didn't want the camera confiscated by you know who.
Scott offered to buy us drinks. I told him that we couldn't possibly because Sean is an angry drunk. He laughed and bought himself some overpriced beer. I then got to talking to Scott and could understand about 80% of what he was saying. I was pretty proud of myself for understanding that much! When I didn't understand I pretended to stretch out my hurting leg (it really was hurting from the hike). The drink cart never made it past our row. The rowdy part of the Tartan Army kept buying booze. It was a 8:00am flight.
By the way, the Tartan Army is those loyal fans of the Scotland Football team that will go to away games. Good bunch of guys! Well...that's pretty much it for Scotland. We landed in England and made it back to Burgess Hill, where dreams come from.
