I follow a 'lead' I was given the night before, and book a room in a small fishing village north of Edinburgh. It is in the county of Fife. 'I ance kent a man who had been to Crail' said a man one time when asked if he had been abroad. Crail is south of St. Andrews. Fortunately for everyone involved Scotland isn't huge, otherwise I would be really ticked off by having to go all the way to St. Andrews from Edinburgh and then south again to Crail. People are friendly and interesting to watch and the scenery even better, so by the time I get to Crail I'm smiling and chuffed to bits about my luck. The village is a perfect little spot on the coast (obviously, being a fishing village and all) and apparently has one of the most photographed harbours in Scotland. I walk around and take in the smell of the ocean and the freshly cut grass in deep breaths. It's a bit windy, a bit chilly - but it's also so fresh, bright and clear. In the evening I try to get a meal but it's a Wednesday, so the fish and chip shop - the chippy - is closed, meaning that it's a beer and a packet of crisps at the pub or nought. I go to the co-op and get some rolls, cheddar and tomatoes. I rustle up a serious cup of tea in my room and enjoy my sandwich and the view of the ocean. And the smug knowing that there will be no drunken girls to disturb my bliss, Danish or otherwise.

The following day I walk around and find all kinds of fabulous spots. The local museum not really being one of them. When I went into the tourist information the previous day a man said that the museum, housed in the same building, in the next room even, was one of the better ones around. I simply couldn't miss it. So I go and look around, not quite managing to penetrate the deeper value of the photos and war memorabilia. The one thing I do enjoy though is in the children's corner where you can put a sticker on the place you're from on a huge map. I'm the first from Norway (I choose a red sticker). I guess back in the reception I feel I have been a bad tourist, so I frantically look around for something to buy. And my eye falls on a little prize. Even two. A small dictionary - Scottish/English, English/Scottish. Maybe you don't think it is interesting, but mark my words, it is. Old Scottish, and new also for that matter, has a lot of similarities with Norwegian. So you see, it's very interesting. My other prize is a Scottish translation of Winnie-the-Pooh (Ole Brum).

The rain wis dingin doon. Doon and doon and doon it dang. Wee Grumphie telt himsel that never in aw his days, and, guidsakes, hoo auld was he - three, wis it, or fower? - never had he seen sae muckle rain. Day after day after day. 'If ainly,' he thocht, as he keeked oot o the windae, 'Id been at Pooh's hoose, or Christopher Robin's hoose, or Rabbit's hoose when it stertit tae rain, I wid hae been we somebody, insteid o bein here aw on ma ain, wi naethin tae dae forbye wunner when it'll stap.'

Worth it's weight in gold.

I take my book to the park and find a spot in the sun, wrapped tightly in my shawl - or blanket almost, a thick one from Peru ('baby alpaca señorita, only 50 soles'), but after a little while there is no pretending any more. I share with most Scandinavians the DNA that means that the default action when the sun is shining is to be outside. For whatever cost. Pneumonia, the loss of limbs, anything. The fifteen minutes of summer we have MUST be enjoyed. When I'm shivering and my hands are barely able to turn the pages in the book I retreat into my room, tail between my legs. After I've thawed sufficiently I have a look out onto the street below - my room is now on the other side of the house - and I'm amused by the elderly ladies hurrying into the town hall (or something to that effect) to have their weekly dancing lesson. One of them says to a passing neighbour in the street: ' You know I wouldn't be bother to do this exercise if it wasn't so much fun.' And when the session is finished, the group is replaced by another. 'We are in the advanced class, just imagine how hard we have to work, it's quite exhausting really.' After this class the ladies fill a table outside with books and put a sign up that says the income from selling these will go to a charity, I forget which one. It's perfect for me seeing that I need something new to read. On my way out I pick up a huge paperback and leave my money in the container provided. I hope it will last me these next two weeks in bonnie auld Scotland.