The Return of the Mustard Beret

>I'm sorry I haven't updated this blog in nearly a month. In the past few weeks I've lived in the library, barricading myself with books about Joseph Conrad or medieval animals for essay writing. When I'm not trying to point out literary allusions, I'm pointing out famous statues to the many visitors I've had. Two friends from Minnesota visited in the same week around the end of October. It was great to see them and try out every cafe around town, but when my overcaffeinated week ended the essays hit. Now I'm emerging from the essay fueled delirium (I felt almost tipsy after turning one of them in this past Monday) and ready for another round of visitors. My parents! I'm looking forward to seeing them, having a few nice dinners, and introducing them to the sights and gale force winds of Edinburgh.

That brings me to the topic of this post, heat is a myth here! When I first saw the scarf around the famous Greyfriar's Bobby statue a few weeks back (it was only on for a few hours sadly), I chuckled, snapped a picture, but still opted for an extra cardigan instead of turning the heat on in my flat. I thought, "Well I'm a Minnesotan. Until the governor cancels school due to windchill, it's not cold out!" I would check the forecast each morning and see the 40F high and think winter won't be so bad here, except for the darkness that descends at 3:30pm, I can handle this. Little did I know, that gale force winds (I'm not hyperbolizing for once) aren't typically written in the forecast. But when I found myself walking to a pub night with friends DIAGONALLY to avoid getting blown over, I knew I was mistaken. The wind doesn't just displace me, but also hundreds of seagulls who get blown into the Meadows (the park right by my flat), miles away from the beach. As if walking to a class where you essay could be returned any day now wasn't ominous enough, now I feel like the protagonist of "The Birds."

It was time to turn on the heat. So I pressed the button and eagerly awaited a blast of warmth that was so small it wouldn't even warm up a chipmunk. Apparently I'm not the only one of friends who has this problem. So just like the entire city smells like hops after it rains, no one gets heat when they actually need it. Funny how much conversation revolves around the weather here just like back home. Therefore I've concluded that heated flats are a myth, just like the Loch Ness Monster. Actually Nessie probably exists rather than a radiator that works.

[Yes, I dressed up as mustard the condiment for Halloween again.]

Now, I push the heating button when I want a laugh and rely on my trusty mustard yellow beret to keep me warm. Yes, the famous beret lives on and yesterday some guy shouted that he liked my hat from a moving car...trying to see that as a compliment, not creepy. For once I'm wearing the beret as a legitimate way to make sure my ears don't fall off, not as a fashion accessory. Yup, I'm definitely in Scotland.