Scotland In My Mind

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I am addicted to the online browsing of real estate listings. Since we decided to rent a place for family to gather this summer, my habit seemed to be under control/pointless.

Enter Donald Trump, now liable in the E. Jean Carroll case on charges of battery and defamation but unchanged in the eyes of his supporters as he makes another Presidential run.

I am not sure he’ll win. But even if he doesn’t- and I mean inarguably, by a long shot- he will certainly reprise his rigged, stolen election schtick, and his idiot base could make January 6^th look like a nursing home tour of Congress. People like me will want (need) to be somewhere outside the old US of Alt -Right.

My mother’s family emigrated from Lanarkshire, Scotland, which I hadn’t heard of, either. I have no idea what it’s like. I am very seriously considering buying a house there.

Here’s the deal: I barely survived 2016-2020. I am concerned that four more years of Trump and his twisted buttholery would be the literal death of me.

There’s a cute former church in Lanarkshire for 435,000 pounds. I don’t know what the dollars-to-pounds conversion rate is, but that seems reasonable for 4 bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen and three reception halls. One can never have too many reception halls.

It was built in 1850 so I am assuming that my assumption is correct: that under the gross wall-to-wall carpeting lies a gleaming hardwood floor.   

Plotting an exit strategy via OnTheMarket (think Zillow, only super UK) feels urgent. Of course, there are practical considerations, like money and logistics, but what about me has ever struck anyone as practical? Forget common sense or even remotely possible; right now, my head is on a ramble in the Highlands with Charlie, trying to figure out whether to keep or ditch the church’s wood-burning stove.

Trump keeps rising from his own implosion-ashes like a bloated phoenix. It’s terrifying. But I am happy for the legitimate excuse to internet house-hunt. Yesterday, I mentioned my Scottish exit strategy to a friend.

“But your family,” she said. “They’re here. You know you’d never leave them.”

She has a point, so I’m adding them to my ramble with Charlie.  Seems they love the Highlands, and I was right about the hardwood floors.