I’ve been trying to get home for days. But the ferries to our little island off the coast of Scotland haven’t stood a chance against Storm Ciara and her even pissier (is SO a word!) big brother Dennis. Yesterday there was a rumor that one (1!) ferry would go, so I headed to the train station to try to make my way out to Ardrossan Harbour. The ticket clerk looked at me like I’d just requested a ticket to Mars. At least, that’s what I guessed, because even after all this time in Scotland, I’m not completely clear about the conversation we had.
CLERK: Hae yez looked ootwith? Thaur ur nae boats gonnae an nae trains e’en if thaur us. An e’en did ye waur tae gie thaur, eh’d advise ye nae tae gie oan onie boat the-day.
ME: Did you say no trains or no boats?
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