Scotland, there’s a difference, you know. People’ll get angry if you say England and you actually mean Scotland. “Britain” is generally okay, “UK” works.
I fly down to Edinburgh at a specific date in early September. I still need to finish the damn application essay. It’s always those last few sentences, I aim to have it done by the end of this weekend. Says I.
And my passport application still hasn’t reached Washington, alas. For some silly reason all north american passport applications are done out of D.C. I’m a bit miffed, the Queen is actually on our money, so we should be the ones to have a processing center. They don’t even make them in D.C, they make them somewhere in Britain. Hmmph.
Tomorrow, I’ll get the thing done tomorrow, preferably before my house is overrun by Scottish people and I may be asked about it. What is this about the scottish people, you ask? I will almost certainly write a thing tomorrow, but it has to do with extended quasi-family, and their visiting family. I use “quasi-family” for people who I have a family-type relationship – in the case of these people, my parents have been friends with them for well over two decades, and I’ve seen more of them than I have of actual aunts and uncles. I used to be best friends with their daughter, and the overall type of interaction is that of extended family that also generally like each other’s company. My blood-and-various-people’s-marriages extended family is made up of decent enough people, but the dinners are rather awkward, since nobody would voluntarily interact were they not related. For some silly reason most of my quasi-family is some kind of British. It’s just the way my life works.