Moving right along.

Thank you all for your comments on my photos. I took around 600 pictures with my handy dandy digital camera, and I had to be very selective in what I posted. For example, at Stonehenge itself I must have taken at least two dozen, photographing the standing stones as I slowly circled them, trying to get all the different possible views. I don’t know what it is about that place. I know it leaves some people cold, but I find it awe inspiring.

Anyway, back to stories. When we were in Edinburgh, we patronised a turistika shop. This is a word we picked up when we lived in Greece, and we now use it everywhere. We bought a deck of cards (which my husband and I cracked open tonight--they’re very nice, extremely stiff and shiny, with pictures of places in that city on them) and a whiskey dram glass for our daughter, a lovely crystal glass etched with a Scotch thistle. My son, however, was taken with the swords on display and ended up buying one (actually, I bought it--he owes me �95). It’s really very nice as these things go, handmade by an Edinburgh artisan who specializes in these things, not too big (my son isn’t a really big guy) with a nice weight to it. He could have had it sent, but that would have cost yet another �40. The blade is blunt and the point rounded, so the girl in the shop wrapped it to go. He put it on the plane as oversized luggage, and we picked it up off the carousel with the rest of the baggage.

On the plane back to Canada, we were given customs forms to fill out, as we always are, wherein we must declare anything purchased, including liquor, cigarettes, produce, etc. One of the questions is: Are you bringing in a gun or other weapon. Not being sure as to what this thing really was, we checked the No box. My husband filled out one form for the three of us as a family, dividing up the price of all the purchases three ways. This was what got the attention of the customs officer and why we were diverted to the room. You see, we had brought back with us six bottles of single malt scotch, at 750 ml. apiece, which put us over our 1.14 litre limit.

When it was finally our turn to see the customs guy, a young fellow, he made a big deal about the sword, saying we should have declared it as a weapon, even if it was just going to hang on a wall. He cut open the box, through all the packing tape, ascertained that the blade was blunt, and then sent us on our way. We weren’t charged for the excess booze and that was the end of it. But you know how you get nervous, like you’ve done something wrong even if you haven’t? That’s how I felt waiting in line.

So, because I felt my son really needed something to protect this purchase of his (my purchase until he repays me), I took it upon myself to make him a scabbard. I have no idea how one makes a scabbard, truly. I ended up cutting two pieces from the box in which the sword was packed and completing the sheath with duct tape and electrical tape. It turned out not too shoddy, in my opinion, and my son was really very pleased.

Here are photos of the sword in and out of the scabbard so that you can see both sides of it:

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