Road Diary
June/July 1999 -- Part X
The Ultimate Celebration of Freedom
By Dick Sutphen

JUNE 29, TUESDAY: The 11 AM train to Dunfermline chugs, shakes, rattles and makes strange stressed-metal groaning sounds. For the first time, I wonder if we're going to make it.

"Hang on to something kids."

Tara soaps up her hands in the restroom, then finds there isn't any water coming from the faucets.

The trip takes 35 minutes and we gladly leap from this train. Stepping out the doors of the station, visitors are welcomed by a large park and decorative gazebo in the distance. Dunfermline is an ancient town and was once the capital of Scotland. American empire builder Andrew Carnegie was born here in 1835. We walk past Scotland's Carnegie Hall.

The ancient architecture would be reason enough to come here, but the Abbey and Palace of Dunfermline is our destination -- the resting place of Robert the Bruce, King of Scots.

The parish church bell tower appears and disappears above other rooftops as we make our way through clean streets and private homes where flowers provide bold splashes of bright color. Following the cobblestone streets, we come to impressive ancient buildings. Tara takes photos. Our first views of the abbey and palace are breathtaking. Larger and much more than I expected.

Dunfermline Abbey was founded by Queen Margaret, wife of Malcolm Canmore, in the 11th century. The abbey is primarily a ruin, but we enjoy exploring all that remains. In a dark room partially below ground level, Tara tunes in psychically and asks to perceive something important that happened here. She soon sees vivid images: "Men in dark woolen robes. They're making plans ... nervous ... very worried about remaining safe while plotting for power."

"Do you know the significance of this?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "But the images were very clear."

In the abbey gift shop I purchase a Robert the Bruce lapel pin, with a heart entwining the Scottish cross bars. The words are in Gaelic. I can only read "Heart," "Freedom," and "Robert the Bruce 1274-1329." The rest will have to wait for a Gaelic dictionary.

Tara purchases four ceramic goblets embossed with an abbey symbol. They were handmade on the Holy Island, a small island near the Isle of Arran.

Upon stepping into the parish church, a casting of the skull of Robert the Bruce can be viewed in a glass case. I hope it's a casting, because if not the poor guy is really scattered: his heart is in Melrose Abbey, his head is on display in the doorway and the rest of his body is buried beneath the pulpit. Next to the skull in the display case is a poor model of a spider with wire legs. Supposedly while discouraged and alone in a cave, Bruce watched a spider try unsuccessfully to spin a web. But after several attempts the spider finally mastered the web. This inspired the King of Scots to keep trying.

The following is one of my favorite quotes from John Fordum's fourteenth-century Chronicle of the Scottish Nation: "Great was the task that Robert Bruce took upon himself and unbearable the burdens upon his shoulders. His mishaps, flights and dangers; hardships and weariness; hunger and thirst; watchings and fastings; nakedness and cold; snares and banishment; the seizing, imprisoning, slaughter and downfall of his near ones and -- even more -- his dear ones no-one now living, I think, recollects or is equal to rehearsing.

"But if there were one to tell how with a glad and dauntless heart Robert Bruce triumphed single handed over all the ill-luck and numberless straits through which he went: the victories and battles, where, by the Lord's help, by his own strength and by his human manhood he cut fearlessly his way into the columns of the enemy, now mightily bearing these down and now mightily warding off and escaping the pains of death -- then such one, I deem, would prove that in the art of fighting and in vigour of body, Robert had not his match in his time in any clime."

And this from the Chronicle of Lanercost: "After the aforesaid victory, Robert the Bruce was sommonly called King of Scotland by all men, because he had acquired Scotland by force of arms." 

Beneath the pulpit of the church is his tomb, topped with an inlaid golden image of the king and surrounded by Latin words. A flood of emotions flow through me as I linger quietly for awhile.

Much as I resist the idea of gift shops in churches, Tara buys me a three-dimensional Robert the Bruce plaque. "The rest of your Father's Day gifts," she says. I love it, wanted it, but wasn't going to buy it for myself.

Leaving the church, we walk up to the High Street, window shop and wander through a shopping mall where we purchase CDs by "Texas" and "The Corrs," groups we enjoyed watching on the televised Glastonbury Festival.

For lunch I order a full Scottish breakfast: two eggs, griddled tomato, two large pieces of back bacon, two sausages, hash browns, baked beans, and mushrooms. "Oh, yes!!!!!" Tara has fresh haddock.

Dunfermline is one of the more appealing small towns we've visited in Scotland. "No Drinking In Public -- £500 Fine" signs abound in public places. The park by the railway station is huge and we spend the last hour of our day out playing on strange, almost Medieval, playground equipment. Tara doubles over with laughter after being bounced around on a balanced-log swing. When Hunter wants me on one end, my weight almost launches him into the trees.

As we reach the train station, rain falls for the first time all day. Actually, we enjoy sitting in the quiet for a few minutes before the rattle-trap train arrives. This is probably the same train we experienced this morning, but maybe a different car. The rattling and shaking is worse.

"Don't just sit there. Hang on to something."

We end the day in Waterstone's Books, looking for reference books on standing stones, and self-catering information in case we decide to conduct seminars in Scotland for small groups of Americans. Anyone interested in coming with us to this magical, enchanted land, leave an e-mail. We'll send you advance information if we decide it is feasible.

JUNE 30, WEDNESDAY: 'Tis cold and a tad blustery in Edinburgh today. Hunter and I grocery shop while Tara does psychic work and Cheyenne raises cats on the laptop computer.

Today's newspapers are filled with excitement over the Scottish Parliament festivities tonight and tomorrow. Tara reads one paper while I read another. "You'll like this," she says, handing me a copy of the Edinburgh Evening News. The headline reads, "Lots of sex please -- we're Scottish!" According to a major magazine survey, "Scottish women are the most uninhibited in Britain when it comes to their sexual habits." The article explains "they are number one when it comes to sleeping with a stranger -- with 67 per cent jumping into bed with a man on the first night ..."

Dr. Lynn Jamieson, an Edinburgh University sociologist, says, "I don't believe this survey shows that young women's morals are down in Scotland. People should not assume being sexually active is a bad thing."

"It's that hot Celt blood," I say. "Pagan!"

"Nah, Celts aren't passionate about anything," Tara says.

We leave the apartment at 9 PM and walk two miles to the top of Calton Hill. Several hundred people are already gathered, with droves emerging from the access pathways to the hilltop. Loud recorded music is playing over the bandstand speakers -- a dance beat and primitive chanting. At a promontory on the hill, an 18-foot high, pyramid-shaped stack of lumber is fenced off. At the appointed time, the bonfire will be lit, and beacon fire will also be ignited on top of the Salisbury Craigs and at Edinburgh Castle -- the two other high points in the city.

The monuments on Calton Hill are said to be why Edinburgh is called "the Athens of the north." The Parthenon was reproduced in part in 1824 to honor the Scottish soldiers who died in the Napoleonic wars. But at the time, the city ran out of money and the structure was never finished. The Nelson Monument honors the hero of Trafalgar and rises 100 feet above the hill. The Lincoln Monument was erected in 1893 and is dedicated to the thousands of Americans of Scottish descent who died in the American Civil War. 

Tonight is the first people's celebration of the opening of the new Scottish Parliament. Understand that England has never achieved complete domination of Scotland, not even culturally. But bribes and threats sucked Scotland into the Treaty of Union in 1707, and the country has had to answer to London ever since.

In one direction we look out over the distinct skyline of Edinburgh -- the Balmoral Hotel, the Scott Monument and Edinburgh Castle. Turning a quarter turn, the water in the Firth of Forth glows almost white as a ship comes into the harbor. The sky is dark and cloudy and it feels as if rain is imminent. The atmosphere is festive. The smell of barbecue wafts on the chilly breeze. We're surrounded by jubilant Scots, many carrying the Saltire -- the Scottish flag -- a white X on a blue field.

I'm wearing a heavy woolen sweater and a below-the-butt, water-proof weather coat and am perfectly comfortable. Tara has on a ski-coat and gloves. The children are similarly bundled up. The weather changes from short-sleeve to ski-attire temperatures, sometimes several times a day.

Our food choices are steakburgers or vegiburgers. They taste like gourmet delicacies in this environment as we eat standing up. And we drink our "Irn-Bru." I haven't mentioned Irn-Bru yet, probably because I hate to bring up addictions. Irn-Bru is the national soft drink of Scotland, and is as popular here as American colas. I asked Hunter how he would describe the taste and he said, "Somewhere between strawberry and cough syrup." Good attempt. It's a delightful taste that I seem to remember from my childhood, but can't pin it down. America needs Irn-Bru.

When the live band doesn't start at 10 PM, rather than continue standing, we scale the wall to the Parthenon -- no easy task I might add. Several dozen young people are already upon the monument, which offers a clear view of the bandstand. When the band begins to play at 10:30 PM, I can't believe my ears. I expected bagpipes, or traditional Scottish music, or even a rock band. Not Mexican Salsa. "Who in their right mind made this choice for the birth of a new Scotland?"

Tara shrugs. "Maybe they're trying to be international."

Maybe. But I certainly haven't seen any Mexicans in Scotland.

The other people on the monument don't seem to be reacting at all. There is no booing, but there is no enthusiasm either. A few teenagers are dancing in front of the bandstand.

Later I learn that 2500 people have attended this free event and the band is called "Salsa Celtica." There is a fiddle player to justify the name, but I never manage to hear it over the saxophones and trombones. At 11 PM, the bonfire is lighted, tossing huge sprays of sparks high into the sky and out toward Leith Harbor.    

We leap from the Parthenon. Ouch! I still think of myself as 25. Mistake.

Moving to another vantage point, we can see corresponding signal fires in the distance on the top of the Salisbury Craigs and at Edinburgh Castle. This is a very moving experience for Tara and me. The further I get from salsa music, the more I can get into the Scottishness of the experience. I will never forget the images of Scottish flags waving in front of the bonfire, illuminated by the leaping flames beyond.

The next day a headline in the Edinburgh Evening News says, "A new dawn for Scotland lights up in a blaze of glory."

Tonight, at the UK premier of Sean Connery's new film Entrapment, the world's most famous living Scotsman says of the opening of the new parliament, "I've been waiting nearly 40 years for this. I think it's certainly the most important day of my life." Connery feels that now the "gloves will come off" and the country will move on to independence.

I hope so too, but more people voted Labor than for the Nationalists.

JULY 1, THURSDAY: OPENING OF THE SCOTTISH PARLIAMENT.

Up early, we hail a cab to take us into the heart of the city so we don't miss a moment of today's celebrations on this warm sunny day. In east Princes Street Gardens, a comedian is entertaining people on a huge bandstand erected for the occassion. On either side of the stage are giant video screens like those used at outdoor music festivals. Above us, the BBC has created a broadcast building on stilts that overlooks the city skyline. We sit on the ground with thousands of others and watch the first half hour of the BBC coverage of the event -- all the behind the scenes goings on not open to the public. When actor Sean Connery appears on screen the Garden audience squeals with delight.

At 11 AM we race a half mile up to the Royal Mile through Advocate's Close -- a backstairs shortcut we've taken before. The crowd is already five people deep, but we find the thinnest possible place and a Scottish couple helps to get Cheyenne to the front row. At exactly 11:15 the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Charles leave the Palace of Holyroodhouse in an open carriage drawn by four white horses. The thundering advance guard on horseback is followed by the carriage and a red, gold and silver uniformed main guard.

In trying to video the passing, I see more of the camera than the Royal family. Tara and Hunter have a clear view. Cheyenne tells us after the carriage has passed, "The Queen waved to me."

A few moments later, we hear the 21-gun salute from the cannons at Edinburgh Castle, announcing the Queen's arrival. The Royal Family is now to enter the Assembly Hall chambers and the official ceremony will begin.

We trot back down the hill to the Gardens and find a place in front of the giant monitors to watch the exchange of powers. Thousands of people are now in attendance here, including many children carrying and waving Scottish flags. A man I can't identify is being interviewed by the BBC: "We don't answer to London anymore. We're a nation once again."

We watch as the Queen is welcomed to the Assembly Hall by First Minister Donald Dewar and presiding officer Sir David Steel. Sir David says, "The ambition of this parliament is to bring decision making and accountability close to the people and make a real difference in their lives."

When the Queen of England first appears on screen, someone in the audience boos loudly. Bad taste. I watch for other reactions, maybe just a hint of the audience's response to Sean Connery. There is none.

In her speech to open parliament the Queen says, "It is a rare moment in the life of any nation when we step across the threshold of a new constitutional age. This parliament has set itself many challenges.

"The Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Charles Duke of Rothesay, join me in wishing this parliament every success. My prayers are with you all as you embark on this new and historic journey.

"I'm pleased therefore now to declare the Scottish Parliament open."

When the Queen presents a specially commissioned golden mace as her gift to the people of Scotland to celebrate this historic day, the Gardens audience cheers loudly. She describes the gift as a "symbol of the great democratic traditions for which we draw our inspiration and our strength."

The mace is engraved with the opening words of the Scotland Act: "There shall be a Scottish Parliament." 

The speeches are soon followed by another moment I will never forget. We see what's coming on the giant screens: a supersonic Concorde and the RAF Red Arrows flight display team -- the huge flying-triangle passenger plane, with four Red Arrow jet fighters on each side, and one directly behind, flying at 1000 feet and heading for Princes Street Gardens.

Within 30 seconds the perfect formation of planes are right over our heads with a deafening roar. A second later they disappear into the cloudless blue sky. Everyone cheers wildly.

One ceremony follows another. Children from all over Scotland march past the Queen. They wear white sweat shirts emblazoned with a blue number one with the Scottish Saltire upon it. Beneath the numeral in black type: "July 1, 1999."

Students of an Edinburgh music school play one of the most exciting musical compositions we've ever heard. Written for this occasion, the masterful piece features, drums, bagpipes, harp and violins. I hope a recording will be available soon.

  Mid-afternoon offers a break in the festivities. We have lunch at Victoria and Albert's, then browse shops and purchase more batteries and video tape to record the rest of the day. I pick up a special edition of the Edinburgh Evening News. The newspaper provides an update of the day thus far. An editorial says, "It's a day the elderly will be proud to witness and young children will, in time, tell their own grandchildren about. It is truly history in the making."

At 6 PM we join the queue for entrance to the evenings main event. We had three choices of entertainment tonight. In the west Gardens is opera, in the Assembly Rooms on George Street there will be a Ceilidh (pronounced kale-ee) -- traditional Scottish jigs and reels. And in the west Gardens is a rock concert by Garbage -- one of the hottest bands in America and around the world. The lead singer Shirley Manson is from Edinburgh and this will be the first time she has performed in her home town. Much as I would have enjoyed the Ceilidh, we want to remain in the middle of the primary activities and will attend Garbage. Hunter and Cheyenne are elated. This will be their first rock concert -- a momentous occasion in their lives.

As we walk to the end of the queue, I decide I'll be one of the oldest people in attendance. Tara thinks she's too old to be here. Some of the young males have their full faces painted with the Saltire. Many of the young women have it painted on their cheeks. Some are draped in the flag.

 We wait an hour before the garden gates are opened. Our blue tickets allow us entry to the main enclosure -- cement levels fanning out up the hill. Those with yellow tickets must remain beyond the hedge on the Gardens lawn. As with rock concerts at home, I'm sure once the music starts, everyone will be standing. We choose an area center stage about a third of the way back. This will hopefully allow us to avoid having our ears ring for the rest of our lives.

The crowd responds appropriately to the first band and a second solo singer, but they obviously don't know the songs and don't really care. There is wild applause when First Minister Donald Dewar appears on stage to provide encouraging words about the new parliament. A good political move. Ninety-five percent of the crowd is under 20, but they are, or soon will be, voters.

The crowd is familiar with Idlewild, a trio of Edinburgh grunge-punk rockers who explode onto the stage. There will be no more sitting down for the next two-and-a-half hours. Hunter is delighted with this music.

When Garbage takes the stage, both Cheyenne and Hunter are joyous. I spend the next 90 minutes holding my 11-year old daughter up high enough for her to see, resting for a few minutes while she dances, then lifting her up again.

It's not my music, but Shirley Manson is one hell of a singer and the band is hot. She says, "It's a huge big honor for us to play here and more importantly, who would have thunk it? I never thought I would see this in my lifetime."

And while the music hammers on, the crowd jumps up and down in a frenzy of joyous expression. In the midst of the chaos, I look up to see an illuminated Edinburgh Castle against a dimming sky, looking down on the proceedings. Goose bumps scurry up and down my arms.

Garbage performs "Don't Let Me Down" as a message to the MSPs (Member of Scottish Parliament). Three cannons of silver confetti are fired out over our heads while Manson sings, "Only Happy When It Rains." Watching the glitter drift across the Gardens is a hypnotic sight, but I feel sorry for the clean up crew.

After a three-song encore, the party ends, none to soon for Tara and I, but much too soon for our kids. To avoid the huge crowd on the main walkway, we climb a steep grass hill to a higher sidewalk. Two young men are wrestling and rolling down hill as we go up. One wears a kilt and sure enough, he doesn't have anything on under it. He comes to rest with his bare ass in the air a few feet from us.

 "Nice end to the show," Tara says.

The concert crowd is exiting onto Mound Street just as Trans Expresse, a surreal drum parade topped off with a human mobile hanging from the sky, comes down the street. There is no room on Princes Street to accept the thousands of concert goers. People are jammed shoulder to shoulder and literally can't move. We're almost to the exit gate when the police close it. The crowd protests. A police officer says, "I can't let any more people onto the street."

I've been holding Cheyenne's hand, moving ahead of Tara and Hunter to clear the way. There is nothing we can do. Thousands of people behind us block a retreat. I'm about six people from the gates. Ten minutes pass, and we listen as Trans Expresse performs in front of the Royal Scottish Academy. The drums are so intense we feel them in our chests a half block away.

Another five minutes pass and the entrapped crowd begins to get angry.

"Open the gates."

"Open the fookin' gates."

The police officer shakes his head and seems to be calling for reinforcements.

"Open the fookin' gates now!"

A guy two people from me provides the spark the rest of the crowd is waiting for. He screams, "FREEDOM," as loud as he can and thrusts a fist in the air, Mel Gibson style. At this rallying cry, everyone begins to push forward, shaking the gates back and forth until they burst forward and the police on the other side are thrown backwards. We leap forward and escape onto the main street just before reinforcements arrive and close the gates again. The children are wide-eyed. I'm a little wide-eyed myself. Tara is laughing.

Our freedom doesn't do us much good, because we can only move about ten yards. It's almost midnight and over 40,000 people are gathered on Princes Street in a block-long area. Looking back toward Edinburgh Castle, huge military searchlights are forming the Saltire in the night sky. What a sight. A moment later, above Edinburgh Castle, the sky explodes with a fireworks display to end all fireworks displays.

Never have I experienced such a festival. What a privilege to be here for this occasion.

JULY 2, FRIDAY: The morning papers say that despite the huge numbers of people packed into city center, there was only one arrest last night -- a guy who decided it was a good time to jump off North Bridge.

Today is rainy and chilly -- a stark contrast to the sunny warmth we experienced yesterday. So this is a perfect day to stay home and recuperate. I'd like to report on our activities, but were I to do so, my wife has informed me, would result in a fate not dissimilar to that of William Wallace upon his capture by the English.

JULY 3, SATURDAY: Drizzly rain is accompanied by a city-shrouding mist that must have blown in off the North Sea. We dress in rain gear and layers of clothes we can peel off if it warms up, then amble off into the city.

Yesterday, the Queen dedicated the new Dynamic Earth building around the corner from the Palace of Holyroodhouse. This is the first day the £34 million development, which tells the story of the planet's evolution, is open to the public. It seems that everyone else in Edinburgh has also decided to attend on opening day. But time in the queue passes quickly as we're entertained by clowns on stilts, mimes and an acrobatic bumble bee. Within 25 minutes, tickets in hand, we descend in an elevator "time machine" -- millions of years into the past.

The displays combine video, models and three-dimensional sound in various earth environments. Tara and I are impressed. The kids love it. The experience is a little like stepping into a real-life interactive version of the Learning and Discovery Channels. The sound in the circular "Human Animal" display is so captivating, I stay for two cycles. Five undersea videos captivate us for at least 30 minutes. We can't figure out how they've created a seemingly real iceberg. The rainforest is humid, misty and part of the overall environmental message: man wasn't here when the earth began and unless we change we will join the many species that become extinct every day. The final video display is projected upon a huge dome. We lie on the floor and watch, the sound effects are so intense the whole structure vibrates.

After tea in the Dynamic Earth cafe, we walk in the rain, following a street that curves off into an area of the city we haven't explored. Our destination is a theater on Lothian Street to see Sean Connery's new movie. We end up at a Clerk Street theater showing the same film. A store-front vender supplies our dinner, which we eat on the street, in a drizzle. The kids and I seem to enjoy our meal under these conditions a little more than Tara.

We claim Cheyenne is 12 to get her into the theater. In Scotland, 15 to 20 minutes of commercials are shown prior to previews and the main feature. The commercials are extremely clever, often sexy and usually funny. We enjoy the film, then walk back into city center. According to Nostradamus, the world is supposed to end tomorrow. Some of the local bars are promoting end-of-the-world parties, "Weather and Armageddon Permitting."

JULY 4, SUNDAY: The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday, so it momentarily feels strange to be away from home. Were we in California, we'd be celebrating with family and friends. Tara would have made the world's best potato salad, and we'd be grilling hamburgers and vegiburgers on the deck. At dusk everyone would gather to watch fireworks.

But we had our fireworks three days early, and this year in celebration of Scotland's freedom. 

This morning, we hike a couple blocks up the street to a local cafe and read Scotland on Sunday while sipping tea and waiting for our full Scottish breakfast to arrive. Today is reserved to watch the final Wimbledon tennis match between Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras on BBC1. Yesterday, American Lindsay Davenport won the woman's title. So no matter who takes the men's title, two Americans will win at Wimbledon for the Fourth of July. I think this is appropriate.

Before the game begins, Tara says, "Sampras is going to win."

"Tara! Don't do that!" She's always right. "That's your psychic prediction?"

"I see his name bigger at the end of the match."

I wish my wife could do this at the race track. But her accuracy at this kind of one-to-one championship is almost 100 percent.

Sure enough, Sampras wins in three straight sets.

In today's paper there is a story about Scottish writers who are fighting back against the spread of Americanisms into the language of Scottish children. Four of the country's top children's authors, sponsored by the Scottish Arts Council have made a video of their work in an attempt to "boost youngsters' Scottish accents."

American accents and BBC-English accents dominate the movies and television in Scotland. Sesame Street and Disney films such as The Lion King are a major influence on the media-savvy youngsters. The Arts Council wants Scottish children "to have access to their own experiences, or stories set in recognizable Scottish locations or in their own language."

I think it's a wise move.

The sun and rain are taking turns today. When the tennis match is over, and while it's the sun's turn, Hunter and I head out in search of a few groceries and some take away pizzas to celebrate the Fourth of July. We get side tracked at the big magazine stand at Alldays. Here in Scotland, most of the magazines offer free attachments that seem to be worth more than the magazine. Many offer CD music compilations, CD-Rom games, a video tape, or a paperback novel. The new issue of Elle magazine offers a free shoulder bag attached to each issue. This fascinates me and I spend more time looking over the freebies than the magazines.

While on the subject of differences, let me tell you about some of the curious signs they have here. One of my favorites is in the parking lot of a nearby Comet discount store. Above a phone box is a sign that says, "CALL FOR ATTENTION."

I have this great urge to pick up the phone and say, "Hello, my name is Richard, and I'd like some attention."

Someone on the other end of the line will say, "Yes, now how can I help you?"

"I want more attention."

"You have it. Now what do you want?"

"A little sincere attention, thank you."

There is another sign I see a lot: "MEASURES TAKEN TO REDUCE SPEED ON SIDE STREETS." What does that mean? It certainly sounds like something more extreme than speed bumps. But what? My mind races all the way to nail strips and then on to snipers lying in wait. If we continue to take public transportation, I will never know.

More differences: The Scots, like the English, drive on the wrong side of the road and shift with the wrong hand. They also go up and down stairs on the wrong side. Americans go up a divided stairway on the right. Wrong here. We often forget and are overrun by masses of descending people.

We're used to TV shows starting on the hour or half hour. Not here. A show may end at 8:20 or start at 9:55. There is no seeming rhyme or reason to beginnings and endings, other than BBC shows are shown without interruption. When airing American programs, if you take out eight minutes of commercials, a half hour show only lasts 22 minutes.

Back at the apartment, our Fourth of July TV entertainment includes Ruby's American Pie on BBC1. The TV schedule says: "Ruby Wax takes a look at American society on the brink of the new millennium. This programme features a trip to Memphis, Tennessee to witness the work of American's most popular TV Evangelist."

The show is an embarrassment! Next week, Ruby will probably take a look at American UFO cults. Wrong. Journalist Nick Cook already did that for two hours on a different channel earlier tonight. Yet to come this week: Hollywood Unzipped -- a show about who is fookin' who at home. There will be a show on bad American drivers, and another on secret camera coverage of Americans who will strip down to their underwear for the right price. Graham Norton will "unearth secrets" about Minnesota's wrestling governor Jesse Ventura. But this week there will be no major coverage of the Christian group-sex movement in America, which is featured at the Lifestyles Convention taking place in Reno, NV this weekend.

Every week, there are a dozen similar prime-time programs on English TV. The Brit networks send reporters to America on investigative quests of some weirdo subject, which they invariably misrepresent as being typical of American life. The interviewers ask tongue-in-cheek questions. The people being interviewed are usually too awed by the TV cameras or too stupid to realize they're the butt of a joke. And of course the home audience gets to snicker with smug superiority.

If Americans would watch the same kind of programming in reverse, our networks would probably be up to the same tricks. But most Americans have little interest in anything English since Diana died. The Brits, on the other hand, seem to have an endless fascination with life in America.

In case I haven't been clear: Television programming for Scotland and Ireland comes almost exclusively from English networks that create original programs and rebroadcast American shows and movies.

Oh, yeah. It's midnight and the world didn't end.

To be continued ...

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