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2001-05-14 - 6:17 p.m.

�Alright, this is the plan. We�ll get in there and get wrecked. Then we�ll eat a pork pie. Then we�ll go home and drop a couple of Surmontil 50�s each. That means we�ll miss out Monday, but come up smiling on Tuesday morning.�

Edinburgh made its intentions clear the first morning as I was offered a large glass of scotch at 9.45am on the tour of the whiskey museum. I politely declined, and only felt slightly embarrassed when the 4 Swedish housewives who were also on the tour started knocking it back with blond haired abandon. You go around in a big motorised whiskey barrel whilst the guides crack jokes about alcohol poisoning. It did nothing for my hangover. The city is compact and striking and there�s a big black castle that dominates the skyline. It�s beautifully jagged and labyrinthine. And everyone drinks like their livers had just insulted their mothers. I kinda like that in a city. Everyone was full of friendly drunken advice, such as �You should write about how focking brilliant we are compared to Glasgow!�, �To be a great writer, you have to write from just below your oesophagus� (er, OK) and, my personal favourite, �Bump into me again sonny, and I�ll rip you a new hole to stick that focking notebook down.� Ah, that�ll be the natural ebullience of the Scottish.

What else? I ate haggis, climbed a mountain (OK, OK, a hill, but a BIG hill) and the first person I saw playing bagpipes in the street was a Japanese guy in a kilt.

No sleep til Belfast.

�Speed�is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off the plane. Time change. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference as long as you keep taking the pills.�

I left my wallet in a taxi cab. There was no money in it, and I cancelled the cards. But someone somewhere is going to be going to be very pleased with their new found stash of fake student ID�s.

�But some time or other you gotta get out. Because it�s crashing. And all at once those frozen hours melt through the nervous system and seep out through the pores��

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