Looks like I’ll be headed to some ancient isles and checking out the grave of Grey Friar’s Bobby once again. Back in 1984, I checked out Scotland. Looks like a couple of decades later, a few pounds heavier, a few pounds, or I guess Euros, richer and way, fucking older, I’ll be heading back.

In evidence that evolution passed me by, I’ll probably be backpacking and sleeping on floors just like then. You’d think I’d be all growed up by now.

Better yet, it looks like the intrepid Dot may be roped into joining me, as we cheer on and, I hope, participate in shows by some way funny folks. M., sadly, can’t get away.

Now, here’s an interesting realization about my life as it is. It has changed. I am en-partnered (almost wrote ensnared). It’s different. But, life rolling like it does and ideas always getting filtered through your own personal neurons, you have to pause every now and again and think a bit harder before you get it.

Sunday, I was musing about this possible jaunt, this junket, this comedy adventure to what some might consider the uber-festival of festivals for the things I like to do. Bear in mind, will you, you reader, that one of the shows at the fest that I have, let’s say, an intimate knowledge is called “The Naked Comedy Showcase.” I think that’s pretty clear as to what it’s all about. And also, mind, please do, that the majority of comedy folks are testosterone cursed and Y-chromosome possessing. Boys.

M. turns to me with a smile and says something like, “Let’s think about this. What if I told you I was going to Europe to meet up with my friends, and they’re all women. Oh, yeah, there will be nudity…”

Yes. I understand. Except it being my life and my non-messy intentions, I obviously consider myself loftily above reproach. I mean I’m practically a goddess, pedastled and righteous. It is not a pedastle from which a tumble would be worthwhile.

Enter Dot, itching to revisit the town she festivaled in last summer. My traveling companion. The woman to balance the crowd. The chaperone. She’s not old enough to be the the Emma Thompson to my Helen Bonham Carter. But, I do think we shall don petticoats.