Thursday 31st December 2009 - A Blue Moon in Kentucky

          The insurance company phoned to say that Rozzie was terminal, and they were going to have to put him down.  I was gob-smacked.  It had seemed such a minor bang.  Anyway, they were adamant, and quite generous on the settlement and rental car time, so I had to accept it.

          I went down to the wrecker's yard to clear out the stuff left behind.  I rather felt like I was preparing him for his funeral, removing all the jewels and tackle.  I got everything packed up reasonably neatly, and then said goodbye.  Actually, I had to go back and, rather goulishly, switch him back on and read the mileage.

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          I was really quite touched.  We'd done 14500 miles together in the last seven-and-a-half months.  we'd had quite a number of revealing conversations.  I knew pretty-well all his idiosyncracies, and he was suitably discrete about mine.

          I felt the need to stop off for a wake and a bit of company.  The bar was selling cheap beer, but I was driving, so I couldn't take very much advantage.

          Two young divorcees started to hit on me, one about 40, the other much younger.  I, eh, quickly figured out what their game was, if you follow my drift.  I know I'm the most wonderful person in the world, but you can't fool me, I know I'm the only person in the world who thinks that.

          But it was entertaining, and just what was needed at a wake.  If only they'd said "dearie" a bit, and mentioned the Insurance money, it would have been perfect.

 

          Now it was off to the Hogmanay party, down at the Barren Lake State Park, where the Glasgow Highland Games take place.  Actually, "lake" is a bit of a misnomer at the moment, since the Corps (of Engineers) have reduced it back to normal river size.  Apparently, I was told later, they do that to a lot of the dammed recreational lakes to manage the mosquitoes better.  But there was a very large acreage of mud on view.

         The resort lodge is out in Barren County, which is dry.  I had been warned,  and had my own supply, but dinner was accompanied with a choice of iced tea, water, or a number of other foul-sounding concoctions.

          But the company was good.  They call themselves the "Kingdome of Raknar", and see themselves as a group of Norsemen raiding the Scottish Games that take place all over the South-Eastern states.  As the evening wore on, they asked me to give them a talk on my trip.  I managed to stick to the short version, so they seemed to enjoy it.  As a result, the 'King' decided to knight me.  In the absence of a sword, he had to use the skien dhu from one of the kiltie's stockings.  I had to kneel down, which was tougher than I expected.  So I am now Sir Von (which means "hope") of the Kingdom of Raknar.  It's nice to have a knighthood, it should keep my ears warm in bed.

 

          Seven times in every nineteen years, there is a year with thirteen full moons.  The extra one, from some old english word meaning "betrayer", is called "blue".  Apparently, in modern usage, in the calendar month with two, the second one gets the 'blue' designation.  The second full moon of December was tonight, and, before midnight, we saw it straying out from the clouds.  So not only did I see the blue moon, it was a blue moon of Kentucky.