As you can imagine from the previous post, we were not in top shape when we got to our tour bus the next morning. Of course, we took "Boring Tour of the Century" instead of "Haggis Tours" so our tour guide was old and the other people on the tour would not have wanted to hear our tales of misadventure from the previous night so we hopped quietly on the bus to Hogwarts (which was not called the Hogwarts express, and where we learned nothing of magical history- the guy kept gabbing on about Alnwick Castle, some stupid nickname he had for Hogwarts and spoke nothing of the flying lessons that took place there. Lame). So on we went on the pensioner's tour of the Scottish borders en route to Hogwarts (which is, of course, in North England).
Everyone on the bus was looking at us, pieces of rubbish disguised as humans, sitting directly at the front of the bus to keep our nausea down, like we were out of place or something. Damn them, judgers.
The first stop on the boring tour of boringness took us to Rosslyn Chapel. Something about the Da Vinci Code happened here and I haven't read it, so I stopped listening. I need to read that book, apparently. Damn it. The oldest bus driver in the world states "it is even more mysterious in real life than it is in the book." Negative. Wrong-o.
We paid 7quid to get in the door (damn tour) and it was just a rusty old church. I mean, being in Europe for this long, a church is a church, is a church is a church. Kill me now.
We decided to opt for a look at the "castle ruins" instead. In a desperate attempt to get to Hogwarts before I died of hangover and boredom, I attempted to use Jocelyn's Birkenstock as a portkey. Fail.
In retrospect, I do feel badly for our tour guide. We were hungover, smelled like donkeys, and had no interest in any part of the tour he was giving except the castle. So, sitting closest to him on the bus, Jocelyn put on her IPod to tune him out and sleep. I was literally catching flies (something I just cannot help when sleeping in transit) and Michelle was wrapped up in her coat with her sleeping face pressed up against the window. Thanks for the tour! Hah. We. Are. Jerks.
The next stop on the tour was Melrose Abbey, where Robert the Bruce's heart was buried. Somehow we managed to sneak in without paying.
And once again attempted to portkey out of there with no success.
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| Note the matching gloves, bought in Edinburgh, because it is freaking cold in Scotland! | |
We then were told that Melrose is too posh for chips (french fries) and promptly found a pub to destroy; demolishing the greasiest of foods, and getting into a bit of a tiff with the bartender about the definition of juice (made from fruits, generally, not soda water and cordial. Bitch.) then took off for the final leg of our nap - the journey to Alnwick Castle (where they filmed the first Harry Potter outdoor scenes, including the flying scene) - I mean Hogwarts.
Upon arrival we were immediately given our wands and broomsticks and sent off to battle dragons, and of course, learn to fly -
We then had a witch battle on the field, much to the delight of the passing children...
We got back on our tour bus with our wands and broomsticks and everyone suddenly understood why we were on this boring tour.
Other interesting note from Alnwick Castle - it belongs to the Percy family, who have two sons in their 20s.
"Are they single?" We ask.
"YES!" replies one of their staff...
"Will you give them our number..."
Move over Prince Harry, we don't need you to live in a castle any longer. And Hogwarts, no less.
We promptly hit the snooze again on the bus, and woke up safely back in Scotland.
Loved.
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