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Scotland - where the thistles grow tall and the men wear skirts

OK so i know I'm a sucky blogger, but what can you do.

I am no longer a BM2B. The wedding 2 weeks ago was lovely thank you, the dress was girly, but it worked. I went to my sis in law's wedding thie weekend in the Burg of Jo and my man had to wear a kilt which as you can imagine i took great delight in. Sadly tradition states that men only go commando under a kilt when there is a king on the throne. Oh how I hoped all of last week that the queen would be ushered peacefully to her rest. Spared from the strain of public life, regally lead through the big pearly gates at last, ...But to no avail.

It seems, however, that a false rumour of the queen's passing must have circulated among the best men sometime later during the reception......

"My mother is a travel agent for guilt trips"

So a few weeks ago our blissful, unassuming little life was thrown into CHAOS! My mom was coming for a visit. Because it was business related she only gave us like 2 days notice. PANDEMONIUM ENSUED.

Dishes were washed, counters were wiped, the vacuum came out (ok, well it would have if we owned one).

My mom's visits can be scary. It wouldn't be a complete surprise if she whipped out a white glove and ran her finger along out of reach surfaces. I guess I should be grateful we had any warning at all...

I can picture the scene...

She'd arrive dressed in Vanish Pink and talk in that same off aussie accent "She looks worried, aaawm not, aaaaaw know that Vanish... bla bla bla" then she'd turn into a pseudo Ma Agnes type and ask if i have any stains in my toilet and have I heard of Harpic?

Imagine my rueful righteous glee then, when I spoke to her yesterday and she expressed terror at the impending visit of my very neat and tidy sister-in-law.....