A wee dram

What we know:
(Don't worry), I'm alive. (Thank you to the person who mailed to see if I was okay.)
In the last 60 hours, only eight of them have been asleep.
British Airways are crap.
I'm hungover.

Er... pictures and text will follow this very brief service shortly.

May God bless you and all that ride in you. See you later today bitches...

Later that evening - we have an update...
A film crew can't just pitch up anywhere and start filming so we - three of us - have to spend two days driving around Scotland scouting locations / begging farm owners for permission / getting lost.

Here are a few pictures of what went down...

This is British Airways on the way up to Glasgow. Bla bla airplane bla bla...Thankfully it didn't "go down."

For the first night we stay at the Glasgow HHilton. (This is the way they've started spelling their name?!)

I like this hotel because of the view from my bedroom window which I am transfixed by.

First I imagine that I'm in the movie Crash, like James Spader having sex with someone on the balcony of their apartment near a busy freeway.

Then I put on Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi and pretend I am a straight blue-collar guy who works as a welder and this is the view from my council flat.

For a moment I really believe I live in Detroit but then room service arrives.

This is breakfast the next morning which pleases me greatly.

I am particularly excited when it's pointed out that there are at least three to four bits of dead animal on my plate.

Here's the inventory of death which I take great delight in scoffing:
cow - beef sausages
sheep - haggis
pig - bacon and black pudding
hen - scrambled eggs

After breakfast we begin the long trek.

At some point we end up behind this lorry going very slowly. Although only one of us has been into the Canadian countryside we all agree that it feels like we're in Canada (check those trees etc.)

This is not really important because we're not looking for places that look like Canada. Moving on.

Well, hoorah! In the distance is the kind of country house we're looking for so we try and make our way to it.

Of course it goes without saying really. Instead I'll let our hired Audi's satnav do the talking...

In the end, finally, after 2 days of driving around Scotland we manage to put boxes in just about every box marked "found" and "permission". Thank fuck.

And we only managed to get stuck in the mud once.

Well, it was all going fine until we got to Glasgow International where it turns out our flight's delayed by two hours.

So we sit in the terminal drinking away the hours. By the time we got onto the plane at about 10pm I was quite pissed.

But of course it shouldn't end there...

This towards the end of the flight - only an hour long - and count 'em.

Me and colleague with at least 5 cans of Carlsberg.

Luckily the plane was quite empty so the airhostesses were more than happy to ply us with booze to keep us tanked and them entertained.

Actually, I remember now - the reason we got drunk was to try and hide the fact that all three of us were alone, sitting in an airport terminal on Valentine's Day.

Hey ho.

Finally the Gatwick Express at 1am.

We get on, lairy and drunk, making the following statement very loudly and pointedly at least three people who we walk past: "isn't it ridiculous when one person on a train sits at a four-seat table and is too selfish to share it with three others."

Stomping through the train we manage to find two empty tables next to each other.

It's petty I know, but when you're drunk for some reason doing this is funny...

Of course tired families and exhausted couples walk past, wanting to sit with each other but thinking; "God, so selfish..."

So that's where I've been for the last three days - on a mini-holiday before the Main Event on Tuesday.

I took the laptop with me but the HHilton charge £15 to log onto the net! They're having a fucken laugh, and the rural South Lanarkshire (area in Scotland) isn't really the greatest Wifi hotspot either.

Scotland is beautiful, I ate haggis (stuffed pigs entrails) and black pudding (dried blood thingy), bombed around in an Audi S6 because Hertz got the make of car we needed wrong (Audi S6 = fucking rocket) but the best bit about the whole thing was getting pissed last night.

The beer was so cold and so crisp, like nectar.

Tonight at the gym I did about 200 sit-ups and am now sipping bottled water.

Will somebody please bring me a fucking San Miguel now please...