Before Harley's mother and I got married we went to see the Rector of what was a fairly swish Church in Belgravia - her parents had been married there.
To test him out I told him the following story:
Guy gets stranded in Stornoway, (Calvinistic country, Western Isles), on a dismal wet winters day. Books into hotel, bar closed, what the hell to do, rings for tea.
Tea arrives brought by a ravishing young woman. Guy engages her in conversation, gets on pretty well to the extent that eventually he asks "will you come to bed with me?" "Aye" she says and starts getting undressed.
Guy thinks that a wet Sunday in Stornoway could be a hell of a lot worse and, for a moment, wanders over to the window looking out at the rain and whistling ...
Suddenly, guy hears the rustle of clothes and turns round to see the girl putting her clothes back on. "What's the matter" he says, "what on earth have I done?"
She says: "there'll be no fornicating for those that whistle on the Sabbath!"
Tony (I'm sure we have Scots who'll appreciate this. And the Rector did marry us.)
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