Except bagpipes. I don’t give money for bagpipes. Bagpipes are not magic.
Only when they stop.
If there is a hell it has bagpipes. Hell, if it exists, is probably the nicest place you could imagine, but with bagpipes.
For me it might be a reclining chair with a reading lamp and a stack of old hardback books. For you maybe it’s a red and white checked picnic blanket in a beautiful alpine meadow, a recliner on a sun-kissed tropical beach, or a luxury suite in a top hotel. Hell is any of those places with the addition of a single man in a tartan skirt playing Mull of Kintyre over and over and over.
I’m sorry Scotland. I do love you, but this is something you need to know.
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