How pathetic is this going to sound? I can't type. I have this stupid shoulder that I hurt in 2001 in a Repetitive Mousing Incident and every now and then it flares up if I do too much typing or miscellaneous computering. Don't know what I've done this time but it's agony and I feel like crying, which makes me cranky coz as a redhead I'm supposed to have a very high pain tolerance. I am betraying my species! The evil actually starts on the side of my neck then burns into the shoulder and shoots down behind my elbow and into the forearm before crippling the wrist and fingers. The joints are all pop and crackle. I started writing this entry on paper and was going to scan it in but that hurt too and my handwriting stinks anyway. So I will go to the doc on Monday or find a physio and in the meantime I am going to stop being such a moany wimpy bastard. It is so naff to say you were crippled by a mouse. I would rather have been bitten by a crocodile, at least the public could sympathise with that. Take care, comrades.

Just so you know, the last entry was intended as a Harmless Bit of Fun. It was not a malicious attack on Scotland and/or the Scottish way of life, as my anonymous correspondents seem to believe.

Crikey, people! Nowhere do I suggest that this is the only food available in Scottish supermarkets. Nor am I saying Scotland has the Worst Food In The World. Every country has its share of crap food, it's just that Scotland's crap food is the most endearingly entertaining I've ever encountered.

Let me reassure any would-be tourists, we actually have plenty of tasty things for you to eat. I have sung the praises of Scottish cuisine in previous entries. There's an abundance of brilliant tucker in this country. Where to begin? The haggis, the oatcakes, the Cream o Galloway Ice Cream, the fish, the cheese, the Tea Cakes, the liquid goodies from Demijohn, the summer berries, phwoaaaaaaaar!

However this is not a food blog and people don't come here for gourmet news. They want deep-fried gristle, guts and gore!

Here's one comment:

"I think your opening sentence is misleading, it suggests that all Scottish supermarkets sell the poor excuse for food that you've listed which simply isn't true. If you insist on shopping in Asda then of course you're going to find low quality food, they cater for low quality people and low quality taste."

I could edit the first sentence to say, "Today we explore some of the dazzling delights on offer in the vast majority of Scottish supermarkets", but that sounds a bit clunky. Besides, pies in tins and Heinz Filler are not exclusive to Asda. I've seen 'em in Sainsburys, Tesco, Morrisons, Somerfield and even the wee Co-Op down the street. The only place you won't find them would perhaps be Waitrose or Marks & Spencer, the domain of more discerning High Quality People with High Quality Taste.

(For the record, we buy our groceries online at Tesco, then top up at Somerfield or M&S. I guess that makes us a bewildering mix of High-Medium-Low.)

Today we explore some of the dazzling delights on offer in Scottish supermarkets...

Just when I thought I'd discovered all the delightful things there was to discover about Scottish cuisine, this purple chariot appeared in our driveway on Saturday night.

"Is this some sort of Mr Whippy van?" I asked Gareth, peering out the window in confusion.

"Aye! Except everything's deep fried!"

They weren't playing Greensleeves, but the pungent scent of shrivelled chunks of potato was enough to lure the neighbours out onto the street clutching fivers, their mouths shiny with Pavlovian drool.

Gareth was all misty-eyed and nostalgic as we watched the spectacle. He hadn't seen a chip van in years. Back in the day, before he turned vegetarian, he would buy a cheeseburger. Not your fancy McDonalds ones with the dainty onions and smoothy, shiny buns, but a hardcore Scottish cheeseburger - a lump of mysterious manufactured flesh and gristle with the highly processed cheese already inside!

"Like a chicken Kiev!" he explained, "Except shite!"

As soon as the hoardes were served they closed the shutters. This little delinquent came running down the street as they pulled away, throwing himself onto the back of the van. He whooped and cheered as they sped off into the sunset. Some people will do anything for a bag of chips.

One night in Lisbon, being the wild party animals that we are, Rhi and I ordered room service and watched an epiosde of the Portugese equivalent of The Price Is Right - O Preço Certo em Euros.

It had the usual elements - cheesy games, glamorous models, hyperactive host, bellowing studio audience and dopey contestants convinced that a packet of toilet paper is more expensive than a speedboat.

But would you check out the Portugese answer to Larry Emdur? I couldn't understand a word he said, but Fernando Mendes rules. Finally, a game show host without blinding teeth and Lego Man hair.

I checked out Ferdie's profile on the official O Preço Certo website, and even with the awkward Babelfish English translation, he sounds like a nice bloke.

I loved the model chicks on this show. They were all big hair, bodysuits and tight Levis. I was instantly homesick - they looked like a night out at the Bathurst Leagues Club, circa 1992. All she needed was a Tia Maria in her hand and a sequined handbag to dance around.

Likewise the male models all looked like the blokes most likely to crack on to the Tia Maria chicks, swaggering into the Club in their Jeans West ensembles after a rollicking game of rugby.

This was the part where the contestant must put all the prizes in order to win the Showcase and the audience screams HIGHER and LOWER in the local language and the host says ARE YOU SURE? in the local language and the contestant's wife does the rotating-forearm Swap Them Round dance and the contestant just looks more and more confused. I love these universal experiences.

And this is the part when he loses and the sound effects department plays the "wah wah wahhhh" of disappointment. The Dinner Set was worth more than the Encyclopedias, so he must return immediately to his job as a taxi driver. But he is still thankful for the chainsaw and leaf blower he won in the earlier round.

As the credits rolled, Fernando took a towel out of the washing machine that was in the Showcase, wrapped it round his neck like a cape then pretended to fly around the studio! Did you ever see Ian Turpie or Bob Barker do anything like that? Portugal rules.

I kept a paper diary during 2003, our first year in Scotland. As a teen I'd been an avid devotee of the paper diary, until one day aged seventeen I had an attack of paranoia, convinced that my angsty scribbles were being intercepted by the household authorities. I unceremoniously burned five years of Collins A5 To A Page and vowed never to write again.

But I'm glad I revived the habit for 2003. We didn't get internet access at home until September so blogging was sporadic. By the time I'd get to an internet cafe, my entries were heavily edited and largely cheery. People constantly reminded me how lucky we were to have this opportunity, thus I was loathe to focus on any negatives less I be told I was an ungrateful arse.

So the paper diary tells the real story of the ups and downs of moving to the other side of the world. It's uncensored, illegible, whiny, lonely, banal, self-absorbed, scared, obnoxious, bitchy, paranoid, pathetic, and gramatically incorrect. In the spirit of honesty and laughing at oneself, here is a few selected high(low)lights.

WARNING: Angst and self-pity ahead!

25 March - Have packed up entire life. Never thought would happen. Doesn't seem like a "Shauna" thing to do, does it.

Clearly crapping my pants here!

March 28 - Flight [from Frankfurt] to Edi was uneventful, Rhi and I reminisced about Aussie food.

We'd been away from Oz less than 48 hours and we were already getting misty-eyed on about Australian cuisine! Priorities, man. The next day I wrote in Edinburgh, "Every shop seems to sell pre-made sandwiches wrapped in plastic. Must be all they eat over here."

April 1 - Got our first taste of Scots rain today. Went out to library and it just PISSED down. Nicked into Boots to get brolly. Fuck everything is so expensive. £15 = $45 for brolly. Then Rhi leaves hers in the bloody shop.

We almost bawled when we realised we'd left the $45 brolly in the coffee shop where we'd just spent approximately $30 on two hot chocolates and a scone. Three years later, I still can't break the habit of translating prices back into Aussie dollars. I quite enjoy it in a sick and twisted way.

April 4 - Got up and went to Argos, funny shop. You write down numbers from a catalogue then they get it from 'out the back'.

There's something about Argos that is infinitely fascinating to foreigners. I remember when my friend Jenny returned from two years in London, one of the first things she mentioned was her trip to Argos to get a hairdryer, how you just browse the catalogue then the magic elves fetch it from their mystical store cupboard. Momo wrote about it too! Argos sounds like a Soviet relic where one collects their brown overalls and soap rations, but you can buy anything from a watch to a saucepan to a freaking home gymnasium and somehow it's all there waiting for you, Out The Back.

April 12 - Americans truly SHIT ME to tears. I try & be openminded, non-judgmental, but every one I have encountered in person this yr has been a loud & annoying FUCKWIT. Our bus trip was full of em today. Went to Loch Ness via Trossachs & Ben Nevis. Pretty cool.

OH DEAR! Now before you send that hatemail, ask yourself - have you ever been tired and cranky and made a gross, sweeping generalisation about a country? If not, I deserve your flaming missive! But please bear in mind I was very new to this tourist caper. I'm quite the diplomat now but that day I was impatient, intolerant and positively seething at a family whose son never once looked up from his Game Boy to admire the scenery, and asked the driver approximately every twenty minutes when were we stopping for more food. Apart from that one family three years ago, I love Americans!

April 28 - Work. Blah blah work. Rhi and I ended up punching each other out of sheer boredom.

Rhi and I worked at the same place for our first Scottish job - data entry. We were quite literally locked away in an attic typing medical information all day long, unsupervised. After typing for eight hours together, we'd descend the stairs together, catch the bus home together, cook dinner together, sit down to eat together. One of us would say, "How was your day?" and the other would say, "It was shithouse!" and the other would say, "Yeah I know, I WAS THERE!".

All that tedium and togetherness soon sent us over the edge and we resorted to primitive hair-pulling and assault to pass the time.

May 20 - Went to net cafe & was annoyed to see noone's commenting these days. Fuckers.

Around this time I was feeling friendless and pathetic, so I clung to my blog as a connection to my treasured Old Life. So a lack of comments or emails would make me mope for days, convinced everyone back home hated me and had moved on. Sob sob... don't you love how now matter how old you get, you always sound thirteen years old in a paper diary?

June 3 - Tonight was pub quiz @ Baillie in Stockbridge... Rory, Jane, Rhi & David were there, & this guy Gareth. He really grew on me. Very shy smile & soft accent. Quiet sense of humour. Oh I do believe I have a wee crush.

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship! *gag*

June 6 - Gareth is really sweet & has a lovey accent. Just something about him... Maybe I am just getting a wee bit frisky & lonely?

Yeah? Well maybe you shouldn't have chucked out your vibrator before you left Australia?

June 20 - We came up the Champs Elysses & there was the Arc de Triomphe, HUGE & so beautiful. Eiffel Tower was cool, & I classily did a fart there. HA! It's so surreal being in this stinkingly famous place.

This was our first European jaunt! For dinner we ate ham and cheese sandwiches from the supermarket. As we have unimaginatively done in every city we've visited since.

July 21 - I'm scoffing chocolate orange. WHY? Because it was on special. OH DEAR.

Rhi and I were flamingly broke in 2003. We were alarmed at how quickly we adopted the Way of the Mothership, buying everything generic or whatever was On Special.

August 5 - News was all about the 'heat wave' today. 25 bloody degrees if you're lucky. Ha!

And I still say, Ha!

August 17 - Oh what a nothing sort of day. Mum called, was nice. Feel a bit homesick lately, disconnected. Was upset by dumb things, like a pissweak bakery section at the supermarket.

It's always about the bloody food!

Around about this time Rhi and I started working two jobs so we could save enough dosh for our Russia Trip in 2004. The seven-day working week was a real bitch, so all we have now is page after page of exhausted whining. And angsting about boys. I won't subject you to that!

November 27 - Tonight I bummed around watching stupid reality shows about people leaving the UK. Sure can see now why they do it.

Despite finally hooking up with Gareth earlier that month, I was still a grumpy bastard and clearly struggling to adjust to a Scottish winter!

And now we have another wee gap in proceedings, because every entry is about Gareth and how dreamy he is and how paranoid and insecure I am. You really don't want to read that!

Now I truly embrace the Inner Teen! After months of anticipation, I had dear friends staying from Australia and the weather gods were conspiring to show them the crappiest time as possible. Every tourist attraction we visited was closed, then Edinburgh's famous New Years Eve festivities were cancelled due to appalling winds. Plus work was hellish and I hadn't seen Gareth for days, fuelling my pity party.

December 31 - I just don't see how he will possibly stay interested in me... But I will try not to wreck it. Please don't let me wreck it. It really was a good 2003 though. Did a lot of things I never thought I'd do. Now I just need to be optimistic & positive & try harder in 2004.

DRAMA! WOE! INSECURITY!

I bought another diary for 2004. But I quit after three months, when I discovered living the life was much more fun than angstily writing about the life :)