We're settling into Autumn now. Although there still are few leaves on the ground, it's getting to be consistently cold and wet. A couple of the places I visited further north have already had snow. It's not a good time to be eating salad and losing weight. I expect if I do more exercise I will keep warm.
I've now settled into testing the theory that it's all about the post office. The problem is that the entire landscape seems to be covered in McBeans, who turn ito McBanes and Mc Bains without even putting the pen back in the inkwell, let alone turning a page. And, being as dour and unimaginative as Scots can be, they've all got the same first names. Everybody's oldest son has to have his father's name. The next sons have uncle's names. And so on down the generations. The only bright spots on the horizon are their big families and American property law. Sometimes they have so many sons they have to come up with a new name, although that is usually picked from the bible, and when they buy and sell property, they have to do it in concert with their wife.
Add to that the propensity of local historians (perhaps all historians of that period) for the narrative form, and it takes large charts to try and identify who's who, and when they were where. Even then, pencil is a sensible choice. I have to stop frequently and do a bit of chatting up of the you-know-whats till I can focus again.
The only thing that seems accepted by all the sources is that they all came from around Inverness. So how did "Glasgow" get into it?
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