The dogs do know.

While you're reading this, I probably have my vest on. And two pairs of socks under my boots. And I’m likely in both my under jumper and my over jumper, because my over jumper has a polo neck and my neck is always freezing. Because the truth is Scotland is cold in late November. Bloody cold. Especially for a woman of a certain age who has spent the last 15 years or so wintering under southern Californian skies.

Mark has planned for the cold like a Scandinavian adventurer. He has his special boots and a variety of different hats. It's been several years since he's been back in the old country and he came prepared.

Fergus is soaking up in the love of family. Almost permanently wrapped in a furry hoodie, Fergus will embrace anywhere where there’s warm drinks, chocolate biscuits and open conversation.

And Lachlan, who was a child rather than a teenager when he last visited Scotland, has been looking at the old country with fresh eyes, noting that almost all the dogs look like they might have something important to tell you. He also pointed out the strange phenomenon that when Scottish people talk, they're really friendly, but before they talk they look like they're going to be angry. I explained that the phenomenon was actually just that Scottish people don't really use Botox, and he nodded and raised his eyebrows up and down with a smile.

This trip has been good for us already and we’re loving it. But I think what we’ve learned, all of us, so far is that happiness is a decision.

Mark had to explain to me this week that when people say they love travelling, they don't mean the checking in and going through security bit. And that made a lot of sense, because though I love flying back to the old country, the process of boarding passes, passports and all cosmetics in small plastic bags has very limited appeal.

For my travelling companions it was less of an issue. Mark navigated through security like he might conquer the Eiger Pass. Fergus, good naturedly, fumbled his way through. Lachlan, observed the whole experience through 17 year old eyes, wondering if it was that naturally rude people were drawn to the job, and listed that as a particular life skill on their resume, or that it was something they contractually had to learn once they were employed. And I trailed behind, packing and repacking bags, retrieving dropped boarding passes, and constantly fricking repeating that it's not possible to take filled water bottles through security.

And by the time we boarded our second flight I was done with what I deemed ‘Unreasonable Tweddle Rustling” and decided to have a bit of a sulk.

Fortunately when you're 70’000 feet above land, looking down on our little planet, the big picture perspective comes to mind pretty quickly. And my mood skipped from being ‘the one who has to sort everything’ to recognizing that my own personal desire to sulk is generally just a sign than I'm tired and stressed, and recognizing that, I cheered right up.

So much so that at baggage collection, Fergus and I had a discussion about who was the most passive aggressive that had us both laughing out loud.

We headed to pick up the hire car and never was I more grateful to be married to a man who prepares like a Scandinavian adventurer. While Fergus, Lachlan and I shivered with cold and fatigue in the waiting area, Sven Tweddle picked up the keys like we were on the home strait to base camp. (Which as we were travelling to the holiday house wasn't entirely wrong. )

And we are invigorated. But cold. So we decide that we should stop for fish and chips on the way to our wee house. And we work out that we can stop at a fish and chips place that Mark used to go to when he was a teenager.

And it all goes to plan, Mark remembering to drive on the right- as in left- side of the road.

And we find the chip shop easily, and park up opposite it. And as Mark gets out the car , the memories descend. Funny at first. But then he is more pensive. Clearly he has pictures of a life that was before he knew any of us.

Lachlan and I order the food, while Mark has a walk around, and Fergus stays in the warmth of the car. Lachlan finds the chip shop fascinating. He marvels at the jars of pickled eggs, and the great pile of pizzas available for deep frying.

And when we return to the car with a bag of hot food, Mark has decided that we could enjoy our dinner somewhere more scenic than in a parking lot in Port Glasgow.

But Scandinavian explorer or not, he’s just finished 14 hours of flying and he's jet lagged and driving on the wrong side of the road. And that is why we end up on a dead-end road in an industrial estate, the gate in front of us announcing “Warning. No entry’

“They’ve changed the roads here. This isn't what I planned,” Mark says.

“Good,” says Fergus,” Because if it had been, that would have been mental”

We laugh. The smell of fish and chips is driving all crazy, so we decide we’re just going to park up and eat.

And we sit in a car in the half light, as dusk settles on a wee road next to what could conceivably be the arse end of Scotland. And there are men in high viz jackets leaving work for the day, wondering who the numpties in the car are. I bet they think we’re ‘bloody Americans’ and they're not entirely wrong.

Eating the best chips I've had in bloody ages, I don't care. And after tucking into his fish and chips, Mark doesn't either.

Lachlan remarks that though his chips have slightly more vinegar than he would have planned, these are just as fantastic as he remembers fish and chips to be.

And Ferg comments that surely enjoying delicious food while sitting in a car next to a dumpster, has to be a metaphor for something.

“It's strange,” Mark says, “When you come back to a place where you grew up and you feel so completely like a foreigner.”

“Yeah, well nothing stands still does it.” I reply, “In some ways we’re always travelling. It just doesn't always come with airport security. Thankfully.”

And we all notice an angry looking woman passing by the car. She's walking a dog that looks like it might have something important to say.

“Maybe that's what the dogs are trying to tell us,” says Lachlan.

And we laugh.

“Nah,” says Fergus, “I think they're just trying to tell us it's cold.”

And we all agree it is.

Till next week.

P.S Please click on the wee heart emoji thing at either the top or the bottom of the Note. It does wonders for my algorithm. ( That is not a medical complaint)

P.P.S. And if you enjoy these Notes, please share them with people you like.

Or if you hate these Notes, share them with people you don't like - That one comes straight from me and Ferg’s lessons on passive aggression 😄