What's my name...

The husband has today been rechristened.  

Having spent a lot of the day in the car today, driving to our next port of call (Killin, we apologise in advance)  the husband suggested a walk into the town for a large medicinal before dinner. Ten minutes in, we realised that the walk was far too long for us, so it was back to the campsite for the car.  Of course, this meant that the husband's medicinal was now off limits, especially as the police station is next door to the pub, so I very kindly let him watch me neck a pint of cider while he nursed a coke and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps. 

I disappeared for a few moments as I wanted to photo the Falls of Dochart.  These are breathtaking, and I snapped away happily for about five moments.

Coming back to the pub, the husband was deep in conversation with a couple on the next table to us.  We are both equally bad at chatting to total strangers, extracting information where needed, and proffering up information whether it's required or not.

'I hear you have lots of children?' said the lady to me as I approached the table.  Obviously the husband had surpassed the topic of our four week tour of Scotland, rapidly moving on to how many children we have, which ones are married, which one has a child etc etc.  

They were a lovely couple, and we chatted happily for ten minutes or so.  And then this happened.

'I was saying to my husband how much your husband looks like a friend of us.  It's uncanny'.  

'Oh yes', I said, what's his name?'  I asked this because I saw an opportunity of renaming the husband for the remainder of our trip.

'It's Dougald', she said.  'With an extra D on the end'.

'That's it', I said, 'you shall henceforth be known as Dougald'

And then the husband asked what Dougald's wife's name was.  Perhaps we could both have Scottish nicknames for the next few weeks was his thought.

'It's Karen'.

Ah well my love, Dougald it is.  You can just address me in the usual manner.

Sir will do...