A lot of you’ll be conscious that I spend a lot more than my fair share of weekends north of the border.
This can have its damages, not the magnificent bisexual black stewardess once on the Gatwick to Glasgow course. She brought a whole extra dimension to the term “layover”. Who knew a girl could come particularly after having a hard day of safety demonstrations, so considerably and pouring stiff gin and tonics?
It’s heaven on earth in Scotland, when the weather’s great. God’s own nation they say. Unfortunately, this is for four or three days a year maximum. Otherwise, it is all midges biting you everywhere (I mean everywhere!) and bearded middle aged men advocating one to say “Yes”.
But it’s undoubtedly “No thanks” for me with those angry hostile nationalist types. I prefer those who understand the way to treat guests that are international and show a girl a great time, the friendly welcoming sorts. Gorgeous George Galloway I guess might fit the bill, but I know there is already a new wife along with a queue. But Monica and I Will happily play to his Bill Clinton whenever he really wants to show me his enormous cigar!
I’m a patriotic woman at heart, and want to celebrate the things we have in common rather than banging on about battles 700 years ago. For this reason, I am happy to play my own small part working undercover to keep up and strengthen the union.
I have several wealthy Scottish customers who enjoy me to fly up to visit them. But noticeably less so regarding the neighborhood girls. Agnes Morag and Seuna might well be fun after having a fish supper along with a few Bacardi and cokes, expensive to run, but you’re not going to fly up them for a weekend of adult fun in your citadel.
My favourite customer, let us call him “Hamish”, has his own fortress, an estate the size of Kent, and no attractive girls within a 100 mile radius. I’m unsure of the distance to Norway, although maybe it is 200 miles. He has a kilted ghillie and I meet with . The sign “Tania London, International Escort” might raise a couple of eyebrows at Heathrow, but nobody appears to notice up there. Along with the driver is poker faced the meet and greet and long drive North through.
His castle doesn’t heat, not one of them do, but has a roaring log fire in the fireplace. Which always makes me feel overly hot and bothered and over-dressed after dinner. I’ve little choice but to strip to my underwear as soon as the servants have clocked off for the night time. No phone signal or internet, not a TV signal to distract me. Hamish is eager to show me a traditional Highland welcome and leave me in an eightsome real from the time the light comes right up each day.
Hamish may say he hates the English, and he’s determined Scotland is among the richest nations on earth, that we should go our different ways, but I am aware secretly he loves their naughty ways and English ladies.
Real Scotsmen love showing English girls what’s worn underneath the kilt, and in the case of Hamish I can promise you it’s all in perfect working order. I can’t believe this is the regular manner piping is taught, but am happy to oblige and am appreciating my one to one private tuition nevertheless….