A Scottish Storyteller

Here I go again... getting carried away. This was supposed to be a blog for stories I'd found or had written. Not for my little distractions! But oooh I'm just so excited! Just to explain - I'm offshore at the moment... We were just coming up for tea and I was looking for an excuse not to go all the way up the stairs in one go - these ones are STEEP! So we stopped half way and I was asking "What's that rig? Is that a drilling rig? What do you think that is?" and was pointing to the horizon and all the installations you can see on a clear night when it's as dark as it is outside right now! Then i spotted some faint green streaks. "And what on earth is THAT all about? What's going on there?" My workmate goes "That... Would be the Northern Lights" So that was enough to get me bounding up the rest of the stairs so I could get a better look (without some big pipe obscuring my view). They weren't the most impressive Northern Lights in...

This post is about my name and a wee gypsie wifie and how fate influenced my parents not to give me the gruff scottish names that would have got me beaten up at school. Now in order to do this I thought I'd have to give up my precious anonymity and give you my name! Well some of you know me anyway... but for this post I will be going by the name of "Carol." There we are :) Anyway. This one day, my mum was in hospital while she was pregnant with me and my dad was at home doing whatever it is that dad's do while they're at home. (Usually sitting in some big comfy chair pretending they're watching some western on telly whilst in actual fact they're fast asleep with their mouths open catching flies...) And the doorbell rings and it's this auld gypsie wifie come round the doors looking to tell people's fortunes for a bit of money. This was when where we lived was on the outskirts of town and not far into the city like it is now. Dad, ha...