Linda Journal Entries

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• Our Book is Published!!!!!
  by Karin Taylor

  / !http://www…

  / / She Sells Sea Cards by the Sea Shore / A short story by iAN Derrick with illustrations by Karin Taylor (me)!! Karin’s storefront iAN’s storefront This has been an amazing experience to be a part of….an enormous thank you to Matt Mawson who has tirelessly and generously worked over the past 2 days to bring this little book into being….. I could never have done it without you Matt! And of course a huge thank you to the amazing writer and friend of mine, one of those great Aussie characters that just keeps on keeping on, keeps on getting better with age…. that is iAN Derrick I first met iAN through a journal Matt wrote about one of iAN’s books, and since that day, we sorta hit it off….. I talked to iAN about my father and he also was inspired to write another short story called Understanding Harry and correct me if i’m wrong, but i think he may have been inspired to write a story that reflected some of the goings on with Matt’s four legged friend also. One day I got an email from the amazing iAN, saying although he thought my father should be the one to tell and publish his own stories, he’d had a little idea and brought it to life in Understanding Harry and not long after this i received a second email saying that he’d done it again, but i would have to wait til the morning when he loaded the story to red bubble, and he and I and hubby all savoured the moment….....waiting with baited breath, until upon waking in the morning two days ago, I was thrilled to discover this wonderful story had been written. A story about my characters…involved a certain Mrs T….but i will tell you no more, as it’s a must read…and you can read it over here She Sells Sea Cards by the Sea Shore Thank you iAN and Thank you Matt i am eternally grateful

• Sales Thanks Re Circus Chicks & Linda Longface Tees
  by Karin Taylor

  !ht…

  Thank you to my lovely mystery buyer of the following tees!! / Chicks on Tightrope TShirt Chicks on Tightrope TShirt / Linda Longface TShirt

• Featured
  by Linda Syms

  Fabulous!!!!!!!!! just found out i have been featured in Harbours Fishing Villages and Towns.

  Fabulous!!!!!!!!! just found out i have been featured in Harbours Fishing Villages and Towns.

• Please would you view..........
  by Dave Warren

  I am going to start to try and help fellow bubblers and friends by asking people to view each others work, i am sure we all have people i…

  I am going to start to try and help fellow bubblers and friends by asking people to view each others work, i am sure we all have people in our watch lists that have probably never seen someone elses work, so please take the time to view my featured Artist. / This week it is Justlinda / Please check out her gorgeous work / ”Justlinda”:http://www.redbubble.com/people/justlinda

• Fine art of photography group feature
  by Linda Morrison

  I am thoroughly delighted and overwhelmed to have my work featured in the Fine Art of Photography group…This is a great honour for me.T…

  I am thoroughly delighted and overwhelmed to have my work featured in the Fine Art of Photography group…This is a great honour for me.Thanks to all my friends who view and take time to comment on my work. / Much appreciated / Linda ;-]

• Thanks Live Love Dream Group For Featuring Heart In Hand Collaboration With Linda Brintzenhofe
  by Amber Elizabeth Fromm Donais

  Thank You Live Love Dream Group So Much For Featuring Our collaboration Heart In Hand As the Daily Feature Thanks For All Your Support an…

  Thank You Live Love Dream Group So Much For Featuring Our collaboration Heart In Hand As the Daily Feature Thanks For All Your Support and YOU ALL / ROCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK / WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO / With Loves From Me and Linda:)

• Vote for Linda ! WOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
  by bamagirl38

  My girl Linda has entered a shot in a contest and is soooooo worthy of your vote !!!!!!!!!! Please be sure and check it out and show…

  My girl Linda has entered a shot in a contest and is soooooo worthy of your vote !!!!!!!!!! Please be sure and check it out and show her how wonderful she truly is !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You may vote for her here Linda Contest Entry

• Another New Girl on the Block
  by Sande Elkins

  I hope everyone will stop by and say hello to my friend, Linda Pugh, on her first day here on the Bubble. I’ve told her how wonderful thi…

  I hope everyone will stop by and say hello to my friend, Linda Pugh, on her first day here on the Bubble. I’ve told her how wonderful this place is and all of the great artist here who will encourage, educate, and inspire her. Linda is a very well rounded person who is interested in writing and words, photography and art, and travel and always learning and growing. Check out her work here: pughwee. She’s a great person and artist and all round creative soul and I know you will love her and her work as much as I do. / ~Sande

• New Friend on RedBubble
  by Barbara Sparhawk

  My friend and not-too-distant neighbor, Frank Losik, (FRANK LOSIK) has just joined up and posted his writing. He’s a family therapist in …

  My friend and not-too-distant neighbor, Frank Losik, (FRANK LOSIK) has just joined up and posted his writing. He’s a family therapist in Monterey with a wonderful history of helping people. These are stories I haven’t heard before, and told in an unusual way, all metaphor relating back to our own behavior, our needs and longing. Life’s journey has some clear thinkers that help us all find our way. I hope you’ll drop in and have a visit. His wife Linda Losik is an artist who joined about a month ago. / Welcome, Frank!

• Bolsover Castle
  by Linda Syms

  I have managed to download my pictures of Bolsover Castle to You Tube from picasa,have now got music to it.

  I have managed to download my pictures of Bolsover Castle to You Tube from picasa,have now got music to it.

• Pay It Forward.... and thanks to Linda Syms and Julie Langford
  by Dave Warren

  Julie Langford just BM me and said that i was featured in the daily wrap, in Pay It Forward, i would like to Thank Linda Syms for nominat…

  Julie Langford just BM me and said that i was featured in the daily wrap, in Pay It Forward, i would like to Thank Linda Syms for nominating my Tracks In The Snow as being her favorite piece of art on RB, i am absolutely gob smacked and honoured to think that someone likes my work this much, so a real big thank you to Linda Syms, if you have not seen Linda’s Work then Please have a look. Thanks to Julie for bringing this to my attention and for creating the Pay it forward in the community

• My first sale!
  by Sarah Pett-Noble

  I made my first sale last night – a card of ‘bathtime’. A wonderful lady called Linda Pelling (check our her work, it’s brill) bought it….

  I made my first sale last night – a card of ‘bathtime’. A wonderful lady called Linda Pelling (check our her work, it’s brill) bought it. So a HUGE thank you to Linda. xxx

• Linda Brintzenhofe and Amber Collabs WOOOOO HOOO iT IS
  by Amber Elizabeth Fromm Donais

  Linda Brintzenhofe is an Awesome spiritually charged positive friend with terrific amounts of joy and this reflects in our collab spirts …

  Linda Brintzenhofe is an Awesome spiritually charged positive friend with terrific amounts of joy and this reflects in our collab spirts have not had so much fun since I was a young girl She Is Terrific I love her and She’s Awesome check out Linda HERE / Working with her so much fun a blast / WOOOO HOOOOO / Amber Elizabeth 1 Principles and Pride / / #2 Heart In Hand / / #3 In Silent Darkness You We Seek / 4 Burning Candlelite / / #5Tears I feel Version 1 / / #6 The Dandelion Tear~Wishes / / #7 Our Crisp Autumn Leaves / / #8 COLORED SEASON LIFE / / Thank you for viewing our works and Linda superb talents

• Great quality cards!.
  by justlinda

  Hi, / I’m so excited, just had a delivery of my own cards, mostly Christmas a few birthday. / They are Great!!!!!!!!. This is going to soun…

  Hi, / I’m so excited, just had a delivery of my own cards, mostly Christmas a few birthday. / They are Great!!!!!!!!. This is going to sound daft but they are just as the original design and the quality is excellent. / Also you get your name printed on the back. Wonder how many people I send them to will notice that!. Might have to point it out in a suttle manner…..not!!. / Regards, / Linda

• New Bubbler - Local and Friend!
  by Barbara Sparhawk

  A friend has just joined, Linda Losik, and I know you’ll all find her work interesting, lots of unique art with brilliant collage and fas…

  A friend has just joined, Linda Losik, and I know you’ll all find her work interesting, lots of unique art with brilliant collage and fascinating color. / Please have a look, and enjoy the view! I don’t know how to do the link thingy, but type in Linda Losik on the search window.

• The Start of "Linda and Doug's Excellent Edinburgh Adventure"...
  by linda lowry

  My sister began bugging me before I started packing for the trip to Great Britain. Every time she called or emailed after I arrived, she …

  My sister began bugging me before I started packing for the trip to Great Britain. Every time she called or emailed after I arrived, she was relentless in reminding me. “You HAVE to get to Edinburgh!” she urged. “But why?” I asked. How much better could Scotland be than England? “TRUST ME. It is the best place we visited. If you liked York, you will love Edinburgh.” We almost didn’t get the privilege of going. In the middle of February I began researching hotels through expedia.com, the travel site I normally use. Everything that came up was well over $200 per night, most upwards to $400, far more than my budget would stretch to. Doug had decided by this time, having already spent a week of vacation sightseeing with his family, to see how much of his per diem, our company allotted daily food and necessity allowance, he could take home. I was not as frugal, figuring everything about the two months working in England was a once in a lifetime chance for me. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to pay that kind of money to sleep for eight hours. One of our British co-workers came to the rescue. “So, what are your plans for this weekend?” Andy asked. Doug had helped him get AAA guidebooks for his planned summer trip to New York, Orlando, and Washington D.C.. He felt personally obligated to make sure we had a good time in his home country. I explained that I had wanted to go to Edinburgh, but the hotel cost was prohibitive. Between four and five hours of driving away, staying overnight was a necessity. “You need to go online and book a room with the Premier Travel Inns,” he said. “We always stay there when we travel. They aren’t fancy but they’re clean, and their prices are very reasonable. They each have a great pub next door too.” As soon as I got back to the apartment after work I checked the website he had printed out for me. They showed rooms available as close as eleven miles away from the city, for fifty pounds sterling, roughly $100. Driving to work the next day, I told Doug about the find. “For that price I’ll go,” he said, changing his mind. “Just tell me what I owe you.” I checked back in after work that day to find the closest rooms had moved to twenty-two miles away from the city, in Falkirk. What was going on that all these rooms were filling up, I wondered, when it was still wintertime? Not exactly prime tourist season. Less than twenty-four hours later, that question was answered. We left the apartments before dawn on a Saturday morning for the long drive and found ourselves in Falkirk by 11:00am. We stopped at the hotel to check in and get directions to the Polmont train station. At the station, we only had to decide if we needed to buy tickets for Haymarket or Waverly, and the kindly clerk helped us with that. To see the castle, we needed to go to the end of the line, to Waverly. While waiting the twenty minutes for the train, people started wandering into the station. Several of the men wore kilts. I wondered if this was a normal Saturday morning ritual, or if they were headed to something like the Civil War reenactments we had at home in Kentucky. The train pulled up and the doors opened. It was already filled with people and we had to stuff ourselves inside. I couldn’t believe this many people were headed to Edinburgh for the shopping on such a chilly morning and I said as much to Doug. Two nicely dressed ladies crushed in closest to us, a blonde and brunette, heard our conversation and asked where we were from. “Kentucky,” I replied. My sister’s admonishment to first say ‘the United States’ had done no good. These people knew that just by listening to us anyway. I figured they wanted a more specific location. “Are you here for the rugby?” the dark haired lady asked, after we exhausted the usual explanations about what is good about Kentucky besides fried chicken. “What rugby?” Doug and I must have looked clueless to her. “The Six Nations match today,” her blonde friend explained. “Ireland against Edinburgh.” AHA, all questions answered. I looked around. Most of the men, including these ladies’ husbands, were attired in the same plaid kilt I had seen on the man at the station, and wore navy blue rugby jerseys boasting the words ‘The Famous Grouse’: a brand of not-very-smooth Scotch whiskey I later learned, and the sponsor of the Scottish national rugby team. Those who weren’t dressed in the navy outfits wore green, obviously Irish fans. More and more people pressed into the cars at each stop, most all of them rugby fans bound for Haymarket, the stop for the stadium. All were in good spirits, seemingly unmindful of the lack of personal space and the cold, gloomy day outside, looking forward only to the upcoming match. “Do you think Scotland will win?” Doug asked the brunette, who had shed her coat as the train car’s temperature rose with additional body heat. Her husband laughed. “Aye it’s highly doubtful. We still like playing the Irish though. We’re akin to them.” “Is that because you share a common enemy?” Doug asked, with a gleam in his eye, meaning the English. The man snorted. “Eh, you just may be onto something there.” “When our Scots get too far behind,” the brunette said, “we’ll just sneak out and go shopping on Prince’s Street.” She winked at her blonde friend before turning back to us. “You really should get to a match before you head home.” I only wished we had the time, to do that and the hundreds of other things we weren’t going to get to. Two months had seemed like a long time at the onset but we were nearing the end of our tour-of-duty as quickly as the train pulled into the Haymarket station. The doors opened and ninety-nine percent of the people in our car started moving forward. We could see the thousands of gaily dressed fans streaming into the stadium on the hill above us. “Enjoy your visit in Edinburgh!” yelled the brunette, waving, as the throng pressed her out onto the platform. We planned to.

• The end *sigh* of "Linda and Doug's Excellent Edinburgh Adventure"
  by linda lowry

  Eventually, our fabulous first day of sightseeing in Edinburgh was eclipsed by encroaching twilight. Doug and I had managed to cross the …

  Eventually, our fabulous first day of sightseeing in Edinburgh was eclipsed by encroaching twilight. Doug and I had managed to cross the entire length of the Old Town by foot, from the enchanting Castle to Calton Hill, where the chilling wind blurred our vision. We decided to wander into the New Town for a bit before returning to our hotel. When our British co-workers found out we intended to spend the weekend in Edinburgh, they had numerous suggestions about what we must see. “Aye, the Castle’s great,” Ian said. “You have to do Prince’s Street,” Andy contributed. “That’s where the best shopping is.” “No,” Roy disagreed. “Rose Street’s the best.” “What’s on Rose Street?” I asked. “Eh, about a million pubs,” he said, laughing. “Great beer. Some food too.” Remembering Roy’s words, we headed west on Waterloo Street in search of forage. Parallel to Prince’s Street, Rose Street resembled a large block party when we turned the corner. Irish and Scottish fans filled the streets, the ‘million pubs’, and the outdoor beer gardens. Voices raised in song came from a place we passed on the left. I recognized the familiar, “She-e-e-e, stoo-oo-oo-d, there laughing…,” of Tom Jones’ Delilah. Way back in the early seventies when the song was at the top of the pop charts, my mother worshipped the Welsh crooner and played that particular record until she wore it out. ”...She saw the knife in my hand, and she laughed no more.” I sang the “why, why, why-y-y, Delilah,” softly to myself as we moved on. Outside every pub sat men with legs bared by kilts and torsos sans jackets, seemingly immune to the cold, possibly an indicator of the recommended beverage they were raising in toast. Halfway down the street, it was evident that a warm indoor seat and food were not going to be easy to find in the crowd and I was too tired to try. “Let’s go home,” I said, actually meaning the hotel, our home away from our home away from home. “We can get something to eat in the pub there. Andy said the food’s great.” I wondered if my tired legs could trudge the eight blocks back to Waverly Station, but they made it after only one wrong turn. Hunger is a good motivator. I think my feet actually sighed when my exhausted rear end settled into the train seat for the ride back to Falkirk an hour later. Doug looked as weary as I felt, but I suspected it was a happy tired. Our minds were filled with images our eyes had taken in over the afternoon, like children with sugarplums dancing in their heads. We were satisfied in silently reliving the best moments, thinking our day of fun had ended. My eyelids closed and I figured I would quickly nod off for the thirty minute journey. We rode virtually alone until the next stop, Haymarket. Someone had told us earlier in the day how it came by its name, before the railroad age when horses were the only transportation. The ‘haymarket’ in each town was where horses were fed and watered after arriving in town. Loads of ‘fed and watered’ Scottish rugby fans, some sporting blue and white jester hats with brass colored bells on the tips, boarded the train at the stop. They celebrated as if they were the winners of the heartbreak 19-18 loss the Irish had handed them. Obviously, local fans cherished the games as a social event rather than a win or die grudge match. My short nap was over. A group of men in kilts and their wives took seats a few rows ahead of us. One of the women kept urging her husband, who was holding a large aluminum case, to ‘get it out.’ Finally, he gave in to her pleading and did as she asked. Suddenly, the loud scream of bagpipes warming up filled the car. Everyone cheered as he started playing, while Doug and I looked around us in wonder. Men in kilts were dancing in the aisles to the player’s excellent rendition of an old Glenn Miller tune. After that came Amazing Grace, followed by Auld Lang Syne and surprisingly, Dixie. Anyone who knew the words sang along and it was impossible not to join in the contagious happiness. The crowd settled down for the more solemn words of their unofficial national anthem, Scotland the Brave Our fellow travelers clamored for the infamous Delilah, but since he didn’t know how to play it they sang a cappella. I sang it out loud this time, but don’t tell anyone. While all this revelry took place, an attractive, normally-dressed young man seated across from us tried to act nonchalant, as if he were above it all. Four songs into the show, even he was unable to resist the enthusiasm of his countrymen. We watched him finally give in and smile while sneaking cell phone pictures of the revelers behind him. A young Japanese couple sat two rows ahead on the other side of the car, grinning broadly and reaching overhead to capture pictures of the bagpipe player on their camera phones. One of the kilted dancers noticed them. He stopped dancing, stole a jester hat from his mate, took off his own, and placed them on the couple’s heads. He took pictures of the laughing pair with their phones. After returning the hats to their original locations and handing the phones back, he asked where they were from. “Japan!” they cried in unison. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking their hands and grinning. The bagpipes whined on as they looked down the full length of him: from his reinstated blue and white jester hat, to his The Famous Grouse rugby shirt, to the pleated plaid kilt barely covering his knees, finally focusing on the thick white knee socks stuffed into running shoes. “I’m Scottish!” he proclaimed. I’d bet they had no trouble believing that.

• The middle of "Linda and Doug's Excellent Edinburgh Adventure"
  by linda lowry

  Doug and I left the train at the end of the line, in Waverly Station. Walking out of the depot and glimpsing Edinburgh for the first time…

  Doug and I left the train at the end of the line, in Waverly Station. Walking out of the depot and glimpsing Edinburgh for the first time, I understood why my sister had made sure I didn’t miss it. A block to the left was Market Street in the Old Town, which meandered up a long, gradual hill toward Edinburgh Castle. One block to the right was the New Town (as old as the United States), fronted by Princes Street, boasting stores equal to 5th Avenue shopping in New York. “What do you want to do first?” Doug asked. The smile on his face as he surveyed our surroundings was indescribable: somewhere between bliss and euphoria, but I was sure he didn’t want to shop. “Are you hungry?” He was much too polite to say so, but this was his way of conveying, ‘I’m hungry. Let’s eat.’ It had been almost seven hours since we grabbed a quick breakfast before starting our long car journey. “I could eat,” I replied. That decided, the next hurdle presented itself: where to eat. This was too much like being married. We were standing in front of a Chinese buffet, which normally I would go for, but I was afraid that stuffing myself with egg rolls and General Tso’s chicken wasn’t the best way to start a full afternoon of sightseeing. Two pubs sat side-by-side a block away on Market Street. “Let’s try one of those,” I decided, pointing at them. “As long as it has a bathroom, it will do for me.” We walked into the left-hand building, the Doric pub, which was full of rugby fans. A table of green-clad Irish, who had obviously sampled generous portions of beer, joyously sang a team song. Navy blue kilted Scottish competitors across the bar started their own chant when the Irish finished. As we took our seats at the window, all the fans clamored for one last bathroom visit before heading to the stadium. The place was strangely silent after it emptied while we perused the menu. “I just want a cheeseburger,” I said. Doug agreed it was a good choice and we headed to the bar to place our orders. I’m not sure if it was the atmosphere or ravenous hunger, but the food served us there was absolutely the best we had eaten since our arrival in Britain. The cheeseburger was perfectly well done, yet juicy, and the ‘chips’ were freshly cut potato wedges instead of the usual frozen kind. I felt like licking the plate when I finished, but I didn’t want to ruin my classy tourist image by acting like the hillbilly I really am. Bellies full, we set out so see what the city had to offer. We looked in shop windows trudging up the steep hill of picturesque Cockburn Street, then made a right turn at the corner to head up toward the castle on High Street, better known as ‘The Royal Mile’. The sun, which had been peeking out earlier, had left completely and a cold, biting wind grew steadily stronger. Along the way, the ancient architecture demanded that I stop every so often to capture an image of a city so beautiful I doubted it would ever fade from my memory. Many of the buildings’ soot coatings had been cleaned: some completely restored to their natural beige stone color, and others mostly clean, with a few strategically darker shaded blocks left untouched. Edinburgh was a city seemingly stopped in an ancient time, yet life within it provided a constantly changing parade of oddness. On the right side of the street, a bagpipe player in full regalia whined out a constant background noise. Further up the street on the left, we encountered a beautiful lady in theatrical makeup standing completely still, wearing a long red gown and a red, veiled hat with a rose. She came to life as we watched, handing a flower to a man standing near her, then twirling and dancing for a moment, before coming to a stop in the same still pose she had started from. At her feet was a memory from my childhood: a music box with a ballerina that dances when the box is opened. The mime’s attire matched the ballerina’s exactly. Directly across the street from her stood a man having his picture taken with tourists. If I squinted a bit and turned my head ever so slightly, his blue and white painted face was a fair imitation of Mel Gibson’s ‘Braveheart’. After capturing him on pixel, we panted on up the hill to the castle entrance. Up close, we could see details that went undetected from the city below. The castle’s stone-block walls were atop natural stone jutting out of the ground and it was impossible to tell where the natural seamed into the man-made. Bronze statues of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace, set back in niches, guarded the castle on either side of the gatehouse. We spent a couple of hours touring the public portions of the castle and just before leaving entered the Crown room where the ‘Honours’, a crown, sword, and scepter, Scotland’s older version of England’s ‘Crown Jewels’, were displayed. Before leaving, the ever-shy Doug struck up a conversation with a young lady dressed in black standing off to the side of the exhibit, who I assumed was a museum employee. She explained the checkered history of the Honours, and the Stone of Destiny. Also on display, it was a large nondescript grey rock on which Scottish rulers sat during their coronation. According to her, current provisions allow it to be ‘loaned’ to England’s Westminster Abbey for future British coronations: as long as it was returned within five days. “What happens if it isn’t returned on time?” I had to ask. “Oh, there’s no problem with that. It will be,” she replied, as if it were under her control. Outside, after we got a few feet away from the building, Doug asked if I had seen her gun. “Gun?” I asked, stupidly. “Yeah. She was some sort of Scottish secret service agent, not a tour guide. She said if anyone attempted to steal one of the Honours, she had the authority to shoot them.” I was glad the notion hadn’t occurred to me. During the hours we had spent in the castle’s museums it had gotten even colder, and at the top of the city the icy wind was numbing. Off in the distance, a cold, grey mist had settled over the bay. My camera even asked to be put away, as the images it focused on were too dreary to capture, even from atop cannons peeking through openings in the castle’s outside wall. “I think some hot tea would be good about now,” Doug said, and I agreed. Just down the hill was a cozy looking place called The Elephant House. A poster on the front window of the cafe invited visitors inside to ‘experience the same atmosphere that J. K. Rowling did as she mulled over a coffee writing her first Harry Potter novel’. The boast was worded so oddly that I picked up a brochure to take home for later research. Internet digging yielded proof of the claim. Just think, I may have chosen the same chair her rear end once graced, but I’d bet mine covered more of it. I was hoping some ghost of her talent lingered to possess me as we sat at the cafe window, eating lemon cakes and drinking our tea, admiring the unwashed side entrance of the massive High Kirk of St. Giles across the street. Overhead, the guitar riff locomotive of Folsom Prison Blues suddenly flooded the room. Doug and I looked at each other and smiled. Here we sat, drinking Earl Grey tea in Edinburgh, Scotland, a place we had never imagined visiting in our wildest dreams, listening to Johnny Cash. The feeling the entire setting provided was akin to the Twilight Zone, but the strangest moment of the day awaited us further down the hill and around the corner, in the Museum of Scotland, where we watched a large, stuffed animal in a brightly lit glass case turn slowly on a pedestal. “Is that what I think it is?” Doug asked, with a bewildered look on his face. We leaned closer to read the inscription. It was Dolly, the cloned sheep, in the flesh, even if she was no longer alive. Once a scientific marvel, she had aged too quickly and died young. I didn’t remember ever hearing that part. Thousands of miles in a jet, four-and-a-half hours by car, and a thirty-minute train ride had brought us to this pinnacle of Scottish history. We weren’t worthy, but we kneeled at the sheep’s throne and took pictures anyway.