I was just on my way out the door to replace the things from The Bag, when the phone rang. Paul said, “It’s someone at O’Hare. He has The Bag in his hand!” They’ll deliver it at 5 pm, which gives me just enough time to do the laundry in it and repack it. And to have a dram or three. Join me!
Here’s to The Year of the Weird. It would be nice if all the other troubles were solved in a similarly serendipitous manner, yes? I’ll drink to that.
(Later note: The Bag is here. Some poor pathetic soul in a baggage handling facility somewhere, who obviously went through the entire bag at his or her leisure, stole one wee bottle of whisky, the Bruichladdich.)