Wrong flask

Tomorrow I set off North on an, all too brief and all too sad, sojourn among my Scottish cousins.

My best beloved bought me a flask. I rubbed it and rubbed it but no genie has appeared to make things all better so off I must wander to the lands beyond the wall.

I would have thought that a flask of such fine green would have supernatural powers, but no, it will just keep my green tea warm as I travel, through the brigands at the border, to the ancient land of the celts, where dragons still roam and Jute and Jam are Kings.

This may be my last message, for a while at least, and back blips from ancient box brownies may appear if I am lucky enough.