Oh, my chickens. So much to share. I ate haggis! Not only that, but I loved it. We had haggis balls at the Cuillin Hills hotel in Portree on Skye, and they were absolutely divine. And in strange events, our waiter was a dead ringer for the guy Catherine and I based Nicholas Drummond on. Totally unbelievable.

We drove almost all the way across Scotland today. We are about two hours from Edinburgh, and a very early morning, but there's a beautiful fireplace at my feet, and a finger of Laphroaig to hand, so it makes the travels creaks feel better. I'm sorry to leave, and I won't pretend otherwise. This country speaks to me at every turn. There are places in the world that are beautiful and fun to visit, and then there are the ones that touch your soul and beg you not to leave. The past two days, out in the countryside, watching the sea and the lochs, driving through the glens and moors, staring at the heather and grasses and bleak wonderfulness of it all, it reaches deep into my being and thrums a cord that I feel through my whole body. And all I can do is sigh, and promise to hurry back.

Chì mi a-rithist thu, à leannan. Slàinte!