John returned from Edinburgh. He returned with a £30 bottle of good whiskey.
He came trampling up the stairs. I hopped out of my attic room and exclaimed, "I've done it! I've purchased a railcard!" We high-fived and spoke excitedly about the money to be saved and our recent/future trips into London.
When we parted, he told me, "I'm going to go get my work done and have another wee dram."
I remembered the term (or a similar one) from one of kellychambliss' stories, but had not heard it spoken aloud (at least noticed it) and had not heard the rolled-r. He repeated it a few times and spoke a few words, careful to over-emphasis all his r-rolling talent. He explained, "'Wee dram' - that's what they call it in Scotland, and they roll the r's!"
I sat there sputtering like a demented choo-choo train. At last I threw my hands up. "I can't! I can't roll my r's! I can't speak Spanish because I can't roll my r's. I can't roll my r's! That's why I'll never be McGonagall! It's sad! It's so sad!"
This calls for winter music to raise my spirits...before John raises his.
(If any of you have been curious about what looks like my increased drinking - I've had one lovely person ask already - I admit that it is more out of the desire to learn about alcohol in its great variety of forms and less out of an inherent desire to drink it. Some things must be learned in a hands- or mouth-on manner. Never in excess, I promise you!)