A quick tip: don’t drink a large glass of port right before bed. I guarantee you won’t like the dreams you end up having.
I managed to somehow wind up in Scotland (without having completed a database install here in the States first), be insulted by my in-laws as looking “French”, fall off an oil pipeline into Scottish seas, worry about how I was going to blog about being in Scotland (I was going to call it “Scotchblogging”), end up stuck on a Eurorail train that somehow mysteriously morphed into an NJT train and then get sucked into the air intake of a North Korean copy of the F-22, just before waking up.
You tell me what it means, ’cause I’ve got no idea.
Paging Dr. Freud.
