Happy St Andrew’s Day, all you Scots. (And all the others for whom St Andrew is the patron saint.)
I was considering using that fact that the NaNoWriMo administration is using a time-zone eight hours behind me (I think it’s East Pacific Time, but don’t quote me on that!) as an excuse to have an extra eight hours of writing time, but fortunately, that’s not needed!
Excuse me while I dance a tired jig of happiness that I hit the 50K barrier on my novel. I don’t now plan to look at it until after Christmas.
I admit, I failed with the blogging challenge. But I feel more encouraged about blogging, and finding new and different topics to blog about. So I shall endeavour to continue with greater frequency.
But now. To St Andrew.
Apparently, according to some sources, the celebration of him as a national saint in Scotland began during the eleventh century, during the reign of Malcolm III.
And, quite honestly, I find this bit of Scottish history more interesting. Because this Malcolm is the son of the Duncan murdered by Macbeth. Yup, him of Shakespeare’s play. And, OK, obviously Shakespeare used a bit of artistic licence in reworking the story into a drama, but it’s still all good fun.
Also, Malcolm’s second wife, Margaret of Wessex (granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, King of England for not very long in 1016, son of Aethelraed the Unready) is Scotland’s only royal saint. So, actually, it strikes me as a little strange that Andrew, and not Margaret, is the Scottish patron saint. Mind you, England has several saints of her own who aren’t the patron saint.
Also, as an aside, today, 30th November 1016, is also the death-day of Edmund Ironside, approximately six weeks after his defeat by Knut the Great of Denmark at Assandun on the 18th October 1016, and their subsequent agreement to split England. Apparently Knut was really impressed by Edmund’s fighting abilities. The North went to Knut, and Wessex went to Edmund. After Edmund’s death, Knut became King of England. (Knut then married Edmund’s stepmother, Emma of Normandy, Queen of England.)
But there. The end of trying to kill myself through lack of sleep.
To all those NaNoWriMo-ers still going, Good luck! You’re nearly there!
To those who didn’t reach 50K words, Better luck next year. You did well, anyway.