We rediscovered, at this point, that the agents working the Tourist Information centres throughout the UK are pretty much identical in one crucial aspect. They try to put American Tourists in the newest, most up-to-date Bed & Breakfast available. We had encountered this on our previous visit, but had forgotten. So, instead of some charming cottage on the outskirts of town we made do with this 2 year old house in the middle of what passes for suburbs in Falkirk. Not that it wasn't pleasant in it's own right, and the proprietess was a delightful lady, it's just not what we prefer. Give us instead a creaky old house with unstable steps and a front door nearly off it's hinges; at least it has history.
After checking in, we drove just down the road to a restraunt recommended by the B&B owner. Again, we remembered too late, that we didn't specify, "where would you eat?" Nice enough, but quite touristy and over-Americanized (IMO) and certainly over-priced. Of course, we were both amazingly jet-lagged by this point, & I fear that perhaps my memory is tainted by that shear over-whelming exhaustion that crept up on me as we sat waiting for our dinner.
Back to the B&B (without Air Conditioning) for a 12(!!) hour sleep. Wastrel On! (Listening To: Happy Woman by Simon Joyner)
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