This'll have to be image-free until tomorrow--I didn't take my camera with me last night and Paul doesn't have the thingamajig that allows him to upload pictures.

Not only did the reception last night feature mad kilt action, we also enjoyed the stylings of the Director of the English Speaking Union (the group that paid the way for Paul and me), a crazy Glaswegian who, among other things, recited several Burns poems and smashed his wine glass while telling this joke:

Four blondes walk into a bar and ask for shots. The barman sets them up, and as they knock them back, they yell 'forty-two weeks!' They set up and knock down a second round in the same way. As the barman is setting up round number three, he says he just can't stand the curiosity. One blonde explains [insert sound of breaking wine glass here, but don't pause the joke delivery in the slightest] that 'the puzzle box said "2-5 years" but it only took us forty-two weeks!'

Ahem. Speaking of jokes, I've been meaning to share one of Paul's that has given me much to ponder:

A guy walks into a bar, and the bartender immediately notices that he has a mailbox for a head. After he pours the guy's drink, he says 'I'm sure you must get this all the time, so I'm sorry, but I have to ask about your head.'

The guy says it's no problem and explains. 'I accidentally rubbed up against this old lamp and a genie popped out. I couldn't believe it--but this stuff really happens. The genie gave me three wishes. So, first I wished to be really rich. BOOM--all of a sudden I'm loaded... I'm in a huge house with a collection of antique cars and art and a pool... you get the idea. Then, I wished that every woman that I'd ever been attracted to would be in love with me. BOOM--the house was full of beautiful women. It was awesome. And then--and here's where I think I might have gone wrong--I wished to have a mailbox for a head.'

Thus Paul. I had nothing to quyte him with except Abbie's joke about the grasshopper--ask her to tell it if you haven't heard it before.

Anyway, we survived the crazy Director and the boring speeches and eventually retired to the pub next to Greyfriar's. Many embarrassing stories came out, the crown of which was certainly--and I still have no idea how this came up--my performance in Mud, in all the gory details. We managed to have a good time despite this--Rania, our tutor, came along and helped make the evening even more surreal and entertaining by her mere presence.

Today we are sleepy, but still pretty psyched to tour the new Parliament building this afternoon. More pics soon. Love to all of you.