We're back from not-so-sunny-Scotland, and I've posted pictures of our trip over at Flickr.com. (Also, there's a tab over on the side with a random sampling of Flickr photos from the 'Groove. In order to simplifiy maintenance, I will slowly migrate pictures into sets over there. If you have good/bad experiences with Flickr that you feel absolutely passionate I should be aware of, please let me know) While this was intended to be a gathering of the KOA Gang in its full glory, we ended up a couple of couples short, unfortunately. Which left five of us (including the Critter) to rattle around in this house: Gargunnock house. Sleeps 16. With a dining room, complete with dead animal heads and paintings whose eyes follow you around the room, a formal drawing room with piano made in 1848 and closet full of "Host Your Own Murder Mystery" games, and three stone staircases leading to random levels. There were bedrooms you couldn't get to without going to another level, crossing the house, and then back up/down another spiral stone staircase. The whole thing started life as a 16th century towerhouse, and you could feel the haphazard additions that created the maze it is today. Not to mention adding that special "did you hear that?!" feel that we so enjoyed all week. Did I mention the fire alarm that went off at 2:45am in the morning like a piercing banshee wail that woke me up with such a fright that I thought I was going to have a baby, let alone my increasingly gravid Bride? The firemen said they had been out there three times in the last three weeks with false alarms. He says false alarms. I say poltergeist with a sick sense of humor. Yeah. I watch the movies. The Critter, on the other hand, has a distinct lack of any sense of self-preservation. While we huddled together in the extremely well lit drawing room, playing poker over a bottle of wine and copious junk food from the nearby village shop cum post office, she would shout out "I'll be right back!" and go exploring every hidden nook and cranny of the house looking for a way into the attic. We have seriously got to start showing that kid more horror movies. You never say I'll be right back before separating yourself from the herd. Truthfully, the whole place warmed up after the first day, and we had a blast exploring the countryside a bit more, vomiting at the top of hills and re-arranging the seating chart for the gargantuan dining table. But best of all, I think, this trip will go down as The One Where We Taught Our Five Year Old To Play Texas Hold 'Em.

With only a couple of days left until we go on vacation, I find myself woefully under-prepared to take time off. Again. This year, we have added complexity of course, because we are trying to prepare for anything. With my Bride increasingly gravid, our holiday destinations are limited to someplace within reach of a midwife and some hot water. So despite a summer that has been depressingly wet and un-warm to date, we've decided to spend a week in Scotland. Where they invented wet and un-warm. I know this is so, because I was raised Presbyterian. Back in our California days, we used to take an annual trip with The Gang to our local KOA, which holds as much similarity to camping as Orville Reddenbacher does to cooking, but we usually got to drink a beer in front of a campfire before retiring to our genuine pre-fab simulated log cabin. And it was an excuse to get together and hang out, with an increasing gaggle of kids as first one couple then another pro-created. On a trip back to California last year, my Bride and I suggested that we take advantage of our time here in the UK to host another get together. "You get here," we said, "and we'll find a place to gather. Enter the Landmark Trust, which allows you to rent a historic building for a day or a week. We picked the Gagunnock House, which is several hundred years old, and sleeps 16. Because, that's kind of like KOA. Except taller. With more kilts. And a butler's pantry. I'm not sure yet if they have broadband, which could limit my 'Groove availability, but I'm supposed to be on holiday anyway, eh?

For a while now, I've been meaning to post about my new banjo. I realize that I don't talk about banjos nearly enough here. With the addition of this latest one, I now have four. Why four, you ask? Ah. It is better to say Why not five?. There is no such thing as too much banjo. But on to my new purchase. After much logical and astute reasoning (read: 'whining and pleading'), I convinced my Bride that I would only be a complete human being if I could purchase a Stelling. (your awe goes here) For the banjo-illiterate (and you know who you are), let me explain. Stelling Banjos are hand-crafted instruments of perfection, used by some of the most famous of banjo players. Kind of like the Stradivarius of the banjo world. Only with five strings. And more likely to be played by someone with kinfolk named "Bubba" and/or living in trailers. After much deliberation and consultation with the fine people at Janet Davis Music (who are, it must be said, the best people in the business for all your acoustic stringed instrument needs), I settled on the Stelling Master's Cross (Geoff Stelling is a born-again Christian, and the care and work he uses in this banjo to celebrate his faith are absolutely astounding). I ordered it, along with a bomb-proof custom case for transportation, and sat back to wait. And wait. And wait. It took nearly four months from the initial call to receive, as he makes them pretty much to order. It was worth the wait. As banjos go, this is an absolute work of art, and immensely playable. It's as responsive as it is beautiful, and has fortunately made me want to practice even more than before. Because I knew you'd be interested, I took my camera out to document it. However, I never seemed to quite get around to taking pictures. But we can pretend, and I'll offer the color commentary to help you along. Me opening the packaging on the Stelling. Note my tears of joy. I am not afraid of my feelings. Me playing my new Stelling. If pictures captured sound there would be rainbows and sparkles Me telling the lady at the airline check-in that this banjo was more precious than that baby checking in over there in Coach class. Sure they were a little shocked, but the parents of the kid agreed with me when they saw my new Stelling Me explaining to the customs agent in the UK that I've owned this banjo for years. Customs? VAT? No, no. These are not the droids you are looking for. My Bride telling me that the Stelling is not allowed in the bed with us. Even if it is really just that beautiful. My classmates in banjo practice oohing and ahhing at my new Stelling. Everyone had a go on it, and agreed that it is more beautiful than the kid in Coach class. My buddy in class stepping on the neck of my new Stelling, cracking it. Note how my eyes have come completely out of their sockets. Me, vomiting My buddy, vomiting Me at the repair shop, asking how long I'd have to wait to see my Stelling again --- The answer? About 3 weeks. Sigh... Actually, the damage wasn't that bad - the 5th peg popped out and split the wood a bit, but nothing irreparable. It was a complete accident, of course, and these things happen. (My buddy felt worse than I ever could have about the whole thing, depsite my repeated assurances that it's nothing a couple of free pints at the pub can't fix) But that's why I've not taken pictures of my beautiful new Stelling. I promise I will once it's back in my possession again. You'll recognize them from the death grip I have on the instrument and the wary glance I'm giving to anyone within fifteen feet.