So yesterday was the whole reason that I am here, the christening, and it was just swell!

Molly K and I got up early in order to change hotels, which certainly hurt, as I would have been thrilled to stay in bed forever after my exhausting day before--two days in one, really.

We were moving because she didn't like the hotel that we were in, so we went down the street to a different one that cost exactly the same but was much nicer. I was fine with the original hotel, but admittedly, I didn't see the room that she was originally put in before I arrived. Still, I'm pretty easy, the simple fact that it was en suite meant to me that it was the height of luxury.

Molly K and I then went to the Brooklyn Cafe, which was across town, near the church where Satan would be driven from this infant.

I thought that the name of the place was amusing, since it was sitting right in the middle of Glasgow and serving a full Scots breakfast, but it was really swell. A Scots breakfast is actually better than an English breakfast, because it includes a fine thing called a potato scone, which, when it's good, it's great, and when it's not so good, it's still pretty great.

You really cannot go wrong with a potato anything, but a potato scone is something special.

Afterwards, before the whole "The power of Christ compels you!!" thing, there was a mass. I love mass in other countries, because it is always exactly the same, so much so that when there is a line or a word that is different, it is like a rifle shot.

After mass, we all sort of gathered together in the back, all those wild, hilarious people from the night before all morphed back into parents, kids on their shoulders. And there was Sean, all weepy in a gorgeous white dress and little cap--he looked like something in a painting.

I looked down at Elaine's legs, and saw that she was wearing black stocking with daisies on them. "Elaine, are those the tights that I gave you?" and they were! When I stayed with them in London in what, '95? Or was it '97? Yeah, it was '97. Anyway, I gave them some thank you gifts when I left, including those tights, because daisies are Elaine's favourite flower.

I don't know if I was more impressed with myself for buying her a gift that she deemed good enough to wear to an important occasion like her only son's delivery from the jaws of hell, or with her for have a pair of tights for four years without getting a hole in them.

The christening was short and fine. The bits where people had to speak were funny, like when Elaine and Greg were asked whether they rejected Satan, and Greg kept his mouth shut, and when the godparents were asked whether they were ready to help raise this child in the Catholic church, and Jonty, unaware that he would have a line, said "Uh, yeah."

Sean screamed the church down when the priest poured water on his head. It was a scream of betrayal, "You put me in this girl's dress, fine, I accept that, parents do weird things sometimes, but now you are washing my hair? No fair!

After the church, we all strolled down the street to the bowling club, which was not, as I vaguely feared, a bowling alley, but instead was like a mini country club for lawn bowling. And then we had a party!

Because there were like a million kids there, it was really fun, much moreso than it would have been if it were just the adults, and I was running around with my camera, taking shot after shot, which meant that I didn't hide in the corner as I usually do at parties.

There were these two astonishing little girls, whose names absolutely have left me, sisters, dressed alike, around 7 and 4 or so, with an astonishing amount of personality. They absolutely took over the room with the force of it, they were like the slightly older and Scots version of Molly and Bonnie, though they absolutely had their own style.

The older one was a big show-off and performer, with the younger one scrambling behind her, but keeping up nicely. She recited a Robbie Burns poem for me, very nicely, and they both demonstrated their step-dancing ability, and the three of us played a game called "Pig in the Middle" for awhile, or, as they called it in their tiny little Glaswegian way, "Pag in the Maddle!"

It's basically Keep Away, one goes in the middle, and the other two bat a balloon back and forth, and if the middle catches it, then the one who didn't catch it goes in the middle. I wasn't in the middle very often, and when I was, it wasn't for long, because I don't lose on purpose to kids, so that when they do win, it's real. We had a blast.

Later, the music turned into Abba's Greatest Hits, and the older girl had an intricately choreographed dance for each one, and she knew all the words as well. I have no idea why a seven-year-old child would be so familiar with the complete oeuvre of Abba, but this one was, by golly, with the younger one following a step behind.

O, and my favourite thing that they did was this little routine when we were outside and the wind was blowing, and one of them ran to face the wind and stood with her arms out, crying, "I'm the girl from Titanic!" and then the other one would run up and hip-check her, saying, "No, I'm the girl from Titanic!" and then the first one would stomp away and cross her arms and pout, then run back and say, "Now I'm the girl from Titanic!" I was simply weeping with laughter.

I told their father to watch out, that they would be trouble when they are older, and he replied that they were trouble now!

So, I used up all of the film that I had, and then I had no film, oddly enough. Strange how it works that way.

We were in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday in Scotland, where you had better believe that they roll up the sidewalk, but I soldered out, by golly, and found several open shops in a little mall, but none of them had any film faster than 200. Finally, I found a shop than not only had 400 film, but black and white film! And not only was it black and white film, it was actually, I am pleased to report, the worst black and white film in the wide world, the kind that gets colour processed! And I was fortunate and intelligent enough to pay more than £4 each for two rolls for the privilege of getting muddy, ugly negatives that I will have to wrestle for hours in the darkroom to make acceptable prints with.

Not that I minded.

Anyway, I went back to the party and got some more good shots of the kids, including Sean's older sister, Georgia, who was struck with a big fit of the shies with so many people around, continually rushing over to Greg to hide in his legs, and since her head is exactly crotch height on him, this made for some leaping back slightly on his part.

I remarked to Elaine, "It's so funny how Georgia keeps flinging herself at her father's crotch," and she answered, "And you and I both know, Kymm, that there is no real reason to go there!" and walked away, which left me leaning for support on the lunch table, laughing like a drain.

Afterwards, Molly K and Fran Z and I went back to the Brooklyn Cafe for tea, having some of their lovely homemade ice cream, and Fran Z picked up the check, which lead me to remark how I should have eaten more had I known. Fran Z answered that that was why he didn't tell us earlier!

We went over to meet Elaine and Greg and Greg's mom at the hotel for dinner, but I was crashing so hard that all I could do was wave vaguely at them and go back to my own hotel and get into bed and watch a documentary about flooding in England, which was actually interesting enough to keep me awake longer than I had planned.

One year ago today:
For a second there, it sounded like you were on a scavenger hunt! Like you needed a blue feather, an argyle sock, a newspaper from last year and a picture of a psychologist!

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