Oot 'n Aboot

Jo hadn’t been home since Christmas and the last time I was in Scotland was just under a year ago, so it seemed like a perfect little outing for our latest three-weekly “conjugal visit” ;-)

For the first time since the start of our relationship, we were on turf that was familiar to the both of us, and as soon as I got into Jo’s car at Newcastle airport, I had the strange sensation of coming home. I could drive the road up to Cumbernauld with my eyes closed. Even when I was living in that neck of the woods, driving past the Lake District and the hills that parallel Hadrian’s Wall, always felt like being handed a tub of vapour-rub. As if you can finally breathe freely again. We stopped for some fish ‘n chips in Gretna Green (no we did not get married... yet) and got ridiculously excited at the idea of being back in the country of neds, fried mars bars and gingers. Jo was beaming with excitement when the first tones of Scottish hit her ears.

We stayed over at Jo’s dad’s on the Friday night. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous about meeting a parental (I really wanted to make a good impression), but I was greeted with a very wide, very cheeky grin and a proper weegie “ye allrite hen?”. The resemblance with Jo was hard to miss and I instantly felt very welcome.

I slept close to nothing that first night and not for the reasons you might expect. Jo’d forgotten to bring up the inflatable double bed, so we ended up sharing Jo’s old one-person stead. Admittedly, Jo’s only wee. But when you take into account that fabulous hair of hers, she does succeed at taking up half the space, so I woke up repeatedly during the night trying to resuscitate one limb or the other, as it’d gone dead under the cramped position we were in.

When we headed into Glasgow for breakfast the next morning, I was in dire need of a strong cup of coffee. And spaghetti, apparently, because I ended up choosing a royal serving of pasta for breakfast. I try not to question the cravings I get on weekends of indulgence ;-)

We’d planned to do loads of shopping, but instead, we just hung around enjoying each other’s company. I had to constantly remind Jo that I had in fact lived in Scotland, and that yes, I did know that Cult was just around the corner and that I had ventured into Borders once or twice before. It was fab. We keep discovering more and more common ground between us, as well as fantastic distinct little quirky differences and I have to admit that this is why I love the flutterstage so much. It’s like charting the proverbial undiscovered country. And as Eddie Izzard would be inclined to say, I feel utterly smug at having planted my flag in this one ;-)

Despite the lack of sleep the night before and a tiring day out in Glasgow, we decided to go for a wee jolly at the Polo Lounge that night. It’d been a while since I last set foot in a proper gay club and it was hugely entertaining doing a round of “spot-the-stereotype”. I got accosted by a rather drunken lad at the bar when ordering drinks, who seem to feel it necessary to stress that he was in fact straight, not gay, that he had wandered into the club by accident and that he was surprised to see that we were all nice people. I replied that I knew some nice straight people too and that I occasionally accidentally find myself stranded in a straight club, but that I too get over the embarrassment then and just try to have a good time.

I think he was too drunk to note the hint of sarcasm.

We spent the remainder of the weekend in Edinburgh, where we’d booked ourselves a room in a hotel just off the Royal Mile. Excellent staggering distance from the pubs ‘n clubs and easy access to a decent fry-up for the morning after. I’d asked Jo to show me “her” Edinburgh, so she’d compiled a wee list of places for us to go to. I would recommend any tourist take the Jo-tour, because not only did we get to have lunch at Elephant House (where J.K.Rowling wrote the first Harry potter), we also saw an excellent exhibition on Pixar animation, the ancient cemetery AND we had the most royal serving of nachos possible.

Because the Monday was a bank holiday, we decided to do something characteristically lesbian: we both rang our ex-es, their respective current girlfriends and a few other friends (Richard!!) to meet up for a night out on the Sunday. Ok, so I exaggerate *grin* There were only two ex-es really ;-)

Most of us were moderately inebriated by the time we fetched a cab to Studio 24 (27? 53? Sod knows what number it was, I did just say I was inebriated) and when the cab driver failed to respond to our enquiries but kept driving in what appeared to be the wrong direction, I had a very scary vision of the lot of us stranded in a ditch just outside the Scottish border. But the bloke clearly DID know the venue, because a few minutes later, he pulled up next to a very butch female bouncer, who welcomed us into a noisy wee club.

I will refrain from commenting on the burlesque show that was put on between DJ sets, as I got called a body fascist by both my girlfriend and my friends following my comments on the night itself, but can I just say that THONGS are wrong on SO many levels *shudders*.

Dammit, my train’s pulling into the station. I will have to love you and leave you. Might finish off this post later… or I could simply take this opportunity to spare you further ranting ;-)