Dickens Hit a Homerun

It sure was a busy day today.  Busy, in that I had one million and three small tasks to be done, and less than one million minutes to accomplish all these little piddling things. 

And some of the things...I can't even write about, because they have to do with Christmas and Fa La La.  If you are not a member of my family and have an inquiring mind that wants to know, comment and I will email you with some pretty fun(ny) details.  All you Armstrongs and Websters?  You
are just going to have to wait.

Speaking of Scots (the Armstrongs and Websters???), I read a pitiful article in the news today.  That Spouse o' Mine was already privy to the content - apparently this hoo-hah has been going on for a few years.  Donald Trump, filthy-rich American, decided to build a golf course in Scotland.  (Yeah, right - like the originators of golf don't already have enough courses?)  Well.  There is a Scotsman, Michael Forbes, 60-ish, who is was a salmon fisherman and farmer.  He owns ~ 23 acres which happens to be smack-dab in the middle of the planned-for golf course Trump has been building.  Mr. Forbes has refused to sell his land.  Trump has been bad-mouthing Mr. Forbes.  Mr. Forbes can no longer fish for salmon because Trump has blocked access to the water.  Wow, Trump, way to ...ah, nevermind.  I told that Spouse o' Mine this afternoon, this story REEKS with tales of Christmas Past.  (And I hate Dickens.)  

Well!  Just this week, Mr. Forbes has been voted Top Scot by the people of Scotland.  That's a big deal, I think.  Imagine being voted Top American!  Well, true to his colors, Trump has declared a ban on any Glenfiddich Scotch sold in any of his hotels.  Because Glenfiddich sponsors the Top Scot award.

Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Tough talk, Trump.  WHO CARES?!

God bless us every one!  Except, maybe...