This morning, a large group of Presbyterians from Boise joined us at church, nearly doubling the size of the congregation (the choir, however, was a bit lower than usual at only three). Their story was cute - their minister has been doing a correspondence Master's course at St. Andrews, and his graduation is in two weeks, so he invited the congregation to come along and said they'd make a tour out of it. From here, they're going on to Glasgow tomorrow, then up the coast, out to Skye, and back down the eastern seaboard to St. Andrews in time for him to walk. Most of the tourists can't go to the actual graduation, but there's plenty to do in St. Andrews to keep them out of trouble.
Despite the haar and our guest organist, who played everything at approximately dirge speed, everyone seemed to have a nice morning, and I had many exhortations from the church ladies to go mingle with my compatriots.
I spent a few minutes talking with one of their ladies over tea after the service, and after a moment, she sort of squinted and asked, "Are you from around here originally?"
"No," I laughed, "Birmingham." Pause. "Alabama. Our Birmingham."
Around here, one must specify.
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