Daniel sent us this one from a bench. He's outside, it's sunny, he's got a beer, and he's wondering two things. First, about self-consciousness — that feeling of carrying around unnecessary baggage about how you look to other people. And second, whether the open container laws that technically make his bench beer illegal actually do anything useful. He's asking if these vigilant measures demonstrably reduce antisocial behavior, or if they're just arbitrary lines that don't match how responsible people actually live.
He's right that the enforcement landscape is completely all over the map. But let's start with the self-consciousness piece, because I think it connects to the alcohol question in a way that's not obvious at first glance.
Self-consciousness is fundamentally about imagining you're being judged against a standard. And alcohol laws — particularly the ones about public consumption — they're also about projecting a standard. The law says you shouldn't be seen drinking on this bench, even if you're being perfectly responsible. It's regulating the appearance of order as much as order itself.
The law is self-conscious on behalf of society.
That's a very Corn way to put it. And Daniel's observation about sitting on a bench, watching people go by, realizing nobody's actually scrutinizing him — that's a genuine psychological insight. Most people are too absorbed in their own internal narrative to be cataloguing what you're doing. The research on the spotlight effect bears this out pretty consistently.
The spotlight effect being?
Thomas Gilovich and colleagues demonstrated it in the late nineties. They had students wear embarrassing t-shirts and estimate how many people in a room noticed. The students consistently overestimated by a factor of two or more. Everyone's running their own movie, and you're an extra in it at best.
I've always found that comforting. The universe is not, in fact, paying attention to me.
Which is why you can nap sixteen hours a day with a clear conscience.
Nobody's watching. And if they are, they're probably a sloth too, and they'll forget by tomorrow.
Here's where it gets interesting. Self-consciousness isn't uniformly bad. It's a social regulatory mechanism. The problem Daniel's describing is the maladaptive version — the kind where you can't enjoy a beer on a bench because you're worried about what passersby think. That's not serving any useful function.
There's a difference between being aware of how your actions affect others and being paralyzed by it. One is social intelligence, the other is just suffering.
The alcohol piece adds another layer, because alcohol temporarily reduces self-consciousness. That's part of why people drink. It disarms that internal critic. The problem is it also disarms the prefrontal cortex, which is the part that makes good decisions about when to stop.
You're trading one kind of self-regulation for the loss of another.
And that's where the policy question gets thorny. If alcohol reduces self-consciousness, and self-consciousness is partly what keeps people behaving well in public, then a society that allows public drinking is relying on people's internal governors being functional even after the first couple of beers.
Daniel's argument, if I'm reading him right, is that most people's internal governors work fine. The guy with one beer on a bench is not the problem. The laws are written for the edge cases but they constrain everyone.
Which brings us to open container laws specifically. Let me lay out the landscape. In the United States, open container laws are primarily state-level, but there's federal pressure through TEA twenty-one — the Transportation Equity Act for the twenty-first century, passed in nineteen ninety-eight. It pushed states to prohibit open containers in vehicles by tying it to federal highway funding. As of twenty twenty-six, most states comply, but there are holdouts. Mississippi only banned open containers in vehicles in twenty eighteen, and even now, passengers in some states can still drink while the driver can't.
Wait — passengers can drink in a moving car in some places?
In a few states, yes. Connecticut, Delaware, Missouri — it varies. The driver is always prohibited, but the passenger seat is a different legal question. Now contrast that with public space open container laws. In most of the US, walking down the street with an open beer is illegal. But there are notable exceptions. The Las Vegas Strip allows open containers. The French Quarter in New Orleans allows them, though they recently required plastic containers instead of glass. Savannah, Georgia allows them in much of the historic district. Butte, Montana allows them citywide.
Population about thirty-five thousand. You can walk around with an open beer. And it's not anarchy.
I want to hear about the places Daniel asked about specifically — where is it totally permitted? The libertarian approach where you buy what you want when you want and you own the consequences.
There isn't a perfect libertarian utopia on this, but some places come close. Japan is fascinating. Public drinking is completely legal. You can buy alcohol from vending machines twenty-four hours a day — though those have been reduced somewhat in recent years. You can drink in parks, on trains, on the street. And Japan does not have a particularly visible public drunkenness problem, despite having a heavy drinking culture around work socializing.
The total freedom approach works there?
It works differently because the social norms are different. Japanese culture has extremely strong informal social controls. The shame mechanism is powerful. Someone who gets belligerently drunk in public faces enormous social consequences. The law doesn't need to step in because the culture polices itself. That's a key variable in all of this — the relationship between formal law and informal norm.
It's not that open container laws are unnecessary everywhere. It's that in some places, the culture does the work the law would do, and in other places, it doesn't.
And Daniel's observation about Israel is right on this point. Israel technically has restrictions — you can't buy alcohol after eleven PM in most places, though that varies by municipality. But enforcement of public drinking is extremely relaxed unless someone is causing a disturbance. The law is on the books, but the police use discretion.
I've lived here long enough to see that in action. I've never seen anyone hassled for having a beer while walking, unless they were also shouting at traffic.
Daniel mentioned jaywalking as a counterexample — Israel enforces jaywalking aggressively while being lax about public drinking. Ireland, where Daniel's from, is the inverse. Jaywalking is culturally normative in Cork and Dublin, but public drinking is heavily policed under the Criminal Justice Public Order Act of nineteen ninety-four.
Which brings us to the core question Daniel asked: do these measures actually demonstrably reduce antisocial behavior and problematic drinking?
This is where the evidence gets really interesting, and a lot of public debate gets it wrong. Let me start with minimum unit pricing, which Daniel mentioned. Scotland introduced minimum unit pricing in twenty eighteen — fifty pence per unit of alcohol. The idea is you can't sell alcohol below a floor price, which targets cheap high-strength drinks disproportionately consumed by heavy drinkers. A study published in The Lancet in twenty twenty-one found that MUP was associated with a thirteen percent reduction in deaths from alcohol-related causes, and a four percent reduction in hospitalizations.
Thirteen percent fewer deaths is not trivial.
It's substantial. But here's the nuance — it primarily affected the heaviest drinkers. Moderate drinkers saw price increases too, but the health benefits were concentrated in the group drinking the cheap high-strength stuff. So minimum pricing does seem to work, but it's a blunt instrument. It doesn't distinguish between Daniel wanting a quiet beer at midnight and someone buying a liter of cheap vodka at eight AM.
What about time restrictions? The eleven PM cutoff that Israel and Ireland both have?
The evidence on time restrictions is mixed. A systematic review in the journal Addiction in twenty twenty looked at studies of changes to trading hours across multiple countries. The general finding is that restricting late-night sales does reduce emergency department visits and assault rates in the immediate vicinity of late-night venues. But the effect is modest and highly localized. It doesn't seem to reduce overall population-level consumption.
It shifts when and where people drink rather than how much.
There's a displacement effect. If you close the off-licenses at eleven, some people will buy earlier and stock up, some will go to bars instead, and some will just not drink that night. The net reduction in consumption is small. But the reduction in acute harm — fights, accidents, emergency room visits — that's more measurable, because those are concentrated in the hours when late-night drinking happens.
Daniel's point is that he's not part of that acute harm demographic. He wants a beer on his couch after midnight. The law treats him the same as someone who'd be causing trouble at two AM.
That's the fundamental tension in public health law. You're regulating populations, not individuals. The population-level statistics show benefits, but any given individual is going to feel — often correctly — that the law isn't targeting them.
Let's talk about the country comparison Daniel asked for. Where are the interesting case studies?
Germany is a useful one. Public drinking is broadly legal. You can drink on the street, in parks, on public transport in most cities. The minimum age is sixteen for beer and wine, eighteen for spirits. There are few time restrictions on sales. And Germany does have a visible public drinking culture — but its rates of alcohol-related violence are not dramatically higher than countries with stricter laws. The World Health Organization data from twenty twenty-three shows Germany's alcohol-attributable mortality rate is actually lower than the UK's, despite the UK having much stricter public drinking laws.
That's counterintuitive.
But it makes sense when you look at the drinking culture. Germany normalizes moderate public drinking from a younger age. The binge-drinking pattern — saving it all up for Saturday night and going hard — is less culturally embedded than in the UK or Ireland. There's a different relationship with alcohol.
It's not the laws per se, it's the cultural script around drinking that the laws are embedded in.
And that makes it really hard to do clean cross-country comparisons. You can't just take Germany's open container policy and drop it into Ireland and expect the same outcomes, because the surrounding culture is different.
What about the Nordic countries? They're famous for strict alcohol control.
Sweden is the classic example. Systembolaget — the state monopoly on alcohol sales. Limited hours, no sales on Sundays in many places, strict controls. And Sweden does have lower per capita alcohol consumption than the European average. But Swedes also travel to Denmark or Germany to buy cheaper alcohol in bulk, and they have a significant home-brewing culture. So the restrictions partly just shift the behavior rather than eliminate it.
Daniel mentioned wanting to know if there's a place where it's totally libertarian and it just functions. I think the closest example might be Denmark itself.
Denmark is a good candidate. No state monopoly on alcohol sales. Supermarkets sell beer and wine. The minimum age is sixteen for buying alcohol up to sixteen point five percent, eighteen for stronger stuff. No meaningful time restrictions on sales. Public drinking is legal. And Copenhagen functions perfectly well. You see people drinking by the canals in the summer, it's part of the social fabric.
The alcoholism rates?
Denmark has a higher per capita consumption than Sweden, but it's not dramatically higher than Germany or the UK. The Danish Health Authority estimates about one hundred forty thousand Danes have an alcohol dependency — about two and a half percent of the population, in line with many European countries. It's not anarchy. But it's also not a public health paradise.
What's the takeaway? Do strict laws work or not?
I think the honest answer is: some do, some don't, and context is everything. Minimum unit pricing has the strongest evidence base for reducing harm among heavy drinkers. Time restrictions have modest localized effects. Open container laws specifically — the evidence that they reduce overall alcohol-related harm is fairly thin. What they do is give police a tool to intervene when someone is being a problem. They're an enforcement lever, not a prevention mechanism.
That's an important distinction. The law on the books versus the law as actually enforced. Daniel was pretty clear that in Jerusalem, the law exists but nobody cares unless you're causing trouble.
That's a common pattern. In jurisdictions with open container laws, enforcement is almost always discretionary. Police use it to move along people who are being disruptive, or as a pretext for stopping someone they have other concerns about. It's rarely enforced against the quiet person on the bench.
Which raises a civil liberties question. If a law is only enforced selectively, it's not really a law — it's a permission slip for police discretion.
Discretion can be applied unevenly across different populations. There's research from the US showing that open container laws are enforced disproportionately against Black and Hispanic individuals in many cities. The law is the same, but who gets stopped is not.
That's a genuine problem. Daniel's experience — sitting on a bench, not being hassled — that's partly about who he is and how he's perceived. Someone else might have a different interaction with the same police officer in the same park.
And that's where the cultural norm piece gets complicated. "It's fine if you're not causing trouble" sounds reasonable, but "causing trouble" is a subjective judgment made by an officer who has their own biases.
What's the better approach? Daniel seems to be arguing for something like the Danish model — legalize responsible public drinking and enforce actual antisocial behavior laws instead.
There's a coherent case for that. If the goal is reducing harm, target the harm directly. Public intoxication laws already exist. Disorderly conduct laws already exist. Assault laws already exist. You don't need open container laws to address those behaviors — you need enforcement of the laws that directly address the problematic conduct.
The counterargument would be that open container laws allow police to intervene before the behavior escalates to disorderly conduct or assault.
That's the preventive policing argument. And it has some logic — if you can stop someone from drinking more, you might prevent a later fight. But it's speculative. You're punishing a current behavior that isn't harmful because it might lead to a future behavior that is. That's a slippery framework.
It's the same logic that justifies all kinds of pre-crime thinking. You're not doing anything wrong now, but you might later, so we're going to stop you now.
Which is uncomfortable territory. And the evidence that open container laws actually prevent escalation is weak. Most public disorder incidents involve people who are already heavily intoxicated, not someone having their first beer on a bench.
Let's loop back to self-consciousness, because I think there's a thread here. Daniel started by talking about the unnecessary baggage of self-consciousness, and then pivoted to alcohol laws. I think he's describing two different kinds of social control. One is internal — the voice in your head that worries about what others think. The other is external — the law that tells you what you can and can't do. And he's saying both are often overcalibrated.
That's a really nice connection. Self-consciousness is internalized social regulation. Laws are formalized social regulation. Both can be excessive relative to the actual harm being prevented. The person who can't enjoy a bench because they're worried about looking weird — that's an internal law that's too strict. The law that says you can't have a beer on that bench even though you're harming no one — that's an external law that's too strict.
In both cases, the solution is probably calibration rather than abolition. You don't want zero self-consciousness — that's sociopathy. You don't want zero alcohol regulation — that's a public health disaster in some contexts. You want the right amount, applied to the right situations.
Which is much harder to achieve in practice than in theory. Laws are blunt instruments by nature. They have to be written in general terms and applied across diverse situations. The discretion of police and prosecutors is supposed to provide the calibration, but as we discussed, that introduces its own problems.
Daniel mentioned something else I want to pick up on. He pushed back against the idea that there's no such thing as a Jewish alcoholic. He said it's a real problem in Israel, just maybe less prevalent than in Ireland.
He's right to push back on that. The stereotype that certain ethnic or religious groups don't have alcohol problems is harmful because it makes it harder for people in those communities to seek help. Israel's rates of alcohol consumption are lower than the European average — the WHO data shows per capita consumption around three point eight liters of pure alcohol per year, compared to Ireland's eleven liters. But Israel still has an estimated one hundred thousand people with alcohol use disorders. That's not a small number in a population of nine million.
The stigma might actually be worse in a culture where heavy drinking is less normalized. If you're the one person in your community with a visible problem, you stand out more.
Which ties back to self-consciousness. The fear of being seen as the one with the problem can prevent people from acknowledging it or seeking treatment. The very cultural norms that keep overall consumption low can make it harder for the people who do develop problems.
There's a paradox. A culture that's more relaxed about public drinking — like Denmark or Germany — might actually have better outcomes for the people who develop problems, because there's less shame attached to it.
Though the data on that is mixed. The countries with the most liberal alcohol policies do tend to have higher overall consumption, and higher consumption at the population level is correlated with more alcohol-related harm. But the relationship isn't linear, and culture mediates it heavily.
What about the specific mechanisms Daniel mentioned? He talked about the eleven PM cutoff — the idea that if you want a beer after midnight, you have to go to a bar rather than buying from a shop. What's the rationale for that?
The stated rationale is usually twofold. First, it prevents impulsive late-night drinking — the friction of going out, spending more money, and being in a supervised environment will reduce consumption. Second, it's supposed to reduce noise and disturbance in residential areas near off-licenses.
Daniel's point is that he doesn't want to go to a bar. He wants a quiet beer on his couch. The law is pushing him toward a more social, potentially more expensive, and arguably more disruptive option.
That's a legitimate critique. The law is designed around a particular model of problematic drinking — the spontaneous late-night binge — and it catches people who don't fit that model. The person who works late, wants to unwind at home, and isn't going to cause any trouble — they're collateral damage.
Is there any jurisdiction that's tried a more nuanced approach? Something between total freedom and blanket time restrictions?
Some Australian states have experimented with layered approaches. In New South Wales, the lockout laws in Sydney — introduced in twenty fourteen and partially rolled back in twenty twenty-one — restricted entry to venues after one thirty AM and banned shots after midnight in certain areas. The evidence showed a reduction in assaults in the targeted zones, but also a displacement to areas just outside the zones. And there was significant pushback from the hospitality industry and from people who felt the laws were killing the city's nightlife.
Even the nuanced approach had problems.
Every approach has problems. The question is which problems you're willing to accept. The Sydney lockout laws reduced some assaults but also closed music venues and changed the cultural character of the city. Was the trade-off worth it? That's not a scientific question — it's a values question.
Which is Daniel's point, I think. He's not saying there should be no regulation. He's saying the current regulations don't reflect a reasonable balance between preventing harm and allowing responsible adults to live their lives.
He's asking whether the evidence actually supports the strictness of the regulations. On open container laws specifically, I'd say the evidence is on his side. There's not strong data showing that banning public drinking reduces overall alcohol-related harm in a way that couldn't be achieved through enforcement of existing public order laws.
What about the minimum pricing and time restrictions? Those seem to have more evidence behind them.
Minimum unit pricing has the strongest evidence base of any alcohol control policy, apart from taxation. But even there, the benefits are concentrated among the heaviest drinkers. For moderate drinkers, it's a regressive cost increase with minimal health benefit. Time restrictions have modest effects that are mostly about shifting the timing of acute harm rather than reducing overall harm.
If you were designing alcohol policy from scratch, what would you do?
I'd focus on three things. First, price — keep alcohol expensive enough through taxation that it's not cheaper than bottled water, but don't micromanage the pricing structure. Second, target enforcement at actual harmful behavior — public intoxication, disorderly conduct, drunk driving — rather than proxy behaviors like possessing an open container. Third, invest heavily in treatment and support for people with alcohol use disorders, because that's where the bulk of the social cost is concentrated.
You wouldn't have time restrictions on sales?
I'm not convinced they do enough to justify the inconvenience. But I'd want to see more evidence. If a well-designed study showed that a particular time restriction — say, no sales between two AM and six AM — significantly reduced emergency department visits without major displacement effects, I'd be open to it. The evidence just isn't that clear right now.
What about the cultural dimension? Daniel noted that jaywalking enforcement varies wildly — strict in Israel, nonexistent in Ireland — and that these differences reflect something deeper than just policy choices.
That's the informal norm piece. Every society has a set of behaviors that are technically illegal but culturally accepted, and a set that are technically legal but culturally frowned upon. The relationship between formal law and informal norm is what actually determines how people behave.
You can't legislate that relationship. You can pass a law, but you can't pass the cultural norm that makes the law work as intended.
Japan's public drinking is legal because the informal norms handle the regulation. If you transplanted Japan's laws to a different culture without the accompanying norms, you might get very different outcomes. That's why cross-country policy borrowing is so tricky. You can copy the statute, but you can't copy the society.
Daniel's experience in Jerusalem captures this perfectly. The law technically restricts public drinking, but the norm is live and let live. The law and the norm have reached an equilibrium where the law is mostly symbolic.
Symbolic laws have their own function. They express a societal value even if they're not rigorously enforced. An open container law says "we as a society believe public drinking is not ideal." Even if we don't arrest people for it, the law communicates a norm.
That's a pretty weak justification for a law that can be enforced selectively and punitively.
Symbolic laws are dangerous precisely because of the selective enforcement problem. If the real purpose is norm-signaling, then enforce it evenly or not at all. Don't give police a tool they can deploy against whoever they feel like targeting.
Let's bring this back to Daniel on his bench. He's sitting there with a beer, it's sunny, he's happy. He's not causing trouble. He's self-conscious about breaking a law he's not sure exists and isn't sure should exist. What's your advice to him?
On the legal question, in Israel, public drinking is generally permitted during daytime hours. Municipal bylaws vary, but the national restriction on off-premise sales after eleven PM is about purchasing, not consuming. If Daniel bought the beer before eleven and is drinking it responsibly in a public place, he's almost certainly not breaking any law that would be enforced. The open container restrictions in Israel are primarily about behavior that causes a public disturbance, not about the mere act of drinking in public.
He can relax on that front.
He can relax. And on the self-consciousness front, the research is clear — nobody's paying as much attention to him as he thinks. The man on the bench with a beer is a completely unremarkable sight in Jerusalem. He's not the main character in anyone else's story.
Which is both humbling and liberating.
The spotlight effect means we all overestimate our visibility. The corollary is that we can afford to be a bit less self-conscious, because most people genuinely aren't watching.
There's a nice symmetry there. Daniel started with the personal — the internal law of self-consciousness — and moved to the political — the external law of alcohol regulation. And in both cases, the answer is something like: the rules are looser than you think, and the enforcement is more selective than you fear.
In both cases, the real work is calibrating your response. Don't let self-consciousness stop you from enjoying a bench. Don't let overly broad laws stop you from having a responsible beer. But also don't ignore self-consciousness entirely — it has a function. And don't ignore alcohol laws entirely — some of them, like drunk driving laws, are life-saving.
The art is in the calibration.
Which is a very unsatisfying answer for anyone who wants clear rules. But it's the honest one.
Daniel also asked about alcoholism and the stereotypes around it. I think it's worth emphasizing that his instinct to push back on the "no Jewish alcoholics" trope is correct and important. Alcohol use disorder doesn't respect ethnic or religious boundaries.
It doesn't. And the data bears this out. Israel's alcohol consumption has been rising steadily over the past two decades, particularly among younger people. The Israel Center on Addiction reported in twenty twenty-four that alcohol is the second most common substance use disorder in the country, after cannabis. The rates are still lower than Ireland's, but the trend line is upward.
The cultural response is complicated. There's a tension between the reality of the problem and the communal self-image.
Which is true in Ireland too, in a different way. Ireland has a very high rate of alcohol consumption and a cultural identity that's closely tied to drinking. Acknowledging the scale of the problem means confronting a piece of national identity. That's hard for any country.
Daniel mentioned minimum alcohol pricing, which Ireland introduced in twenty twenty-two. Has that made a difference?
Early data from Ireland's minimum unit pricing — set at one euro per standard drink — shows some reduction in sales of the cheapest alcohol, particularly high-strength cider and own-brand spirits. But it's too early for robust mortality data. The Scottish experience suggests it takes three to five years to see significant health outcome changes. Ireland's policy only went into effect in January twenty twenty-two, so we're about four years in. The preliminary evidence from the Health Research Board shows a shift in purchasing patterns, but the long-term health impact is still being evaluated.
Daniel's personal frustration with not being able to buy a beer after eleven — that's not addressed by minimum pricing. That's a time restriction issue.
And the time restriction in Ireland is actually stricter than Israel's in some ways. Off-license sales in Ireland are generally prohibited after ten PM, with some variation. So Daniel's experience of wanting a late-night beer and being unable to buy one is even more acute in his home country.
Which might explain why he's so attuned to the arbitrariness of it. He's experienced it in two different countries with two different sets of rules, and neither one quite makes sense to him.
He's not alone in that. Public opinion polling in Ireland consistently shows frustration with the off-license hours, particularly among younger people and shift workers. The law was designed for a nine-to-five world, and it hasn't kept up with how people actually live.
That's a recurring theme in alcohol regulation. The laws reflect an older social model where drinking happened in pubs during pub hours, and anything outside that was suspect. Modern life is more fluid, and the laws haven't adapted.
Some jurisdictions are adapting. Several US states have expanded alcohol sales hours in recent years. California allowed sales until two AM starting in twenty twenty-three. New York extended off-premise sales hours during the pandemic and kept some of the changes. The trend is toward liberalization, not restriction.
Which brings us back to Daniel's core question: do the restrictions actually work? And the answer seems to be: some do, for some people, in some contexts, but the blanket approach catches a lot of responsible behavior in a net designed for irresponsible behavior.
That's a fair summary. Minimum pricing works for heavy drinkers. Time restrictions have modest effects on acute harm. Open container laws are mostly an enforcement tool with weak evidence of preventive benefit. And all of them impose costs on people who aren't the target.
The question is whether those costs are worth bearing for the benefits achieved. And that's not a question with a single right answer.
It depends on your values. If you prioritize public health outcomes above individual convenience, you'll probably support stricter controls. If you prioritize personal freedom and believe adults should be trusted to manage their own consumption, you'll lean the other way.
Daniel seems to be in the second camp, but he's not dogmatic about it. He's asking whether the evidence supports the restrictions.
I think the honest answer to him is: the evidence supports some restrictions and not others. Minimum pricing, yes. Time restrictions, maybe, but the effect is smaller than advocates claim. Open container laws, probably not, at least not as a standalone measure.
What about the total freedom model he asked about? The place where you can buy whatever you want whenever you want and you own the consequences?
No country has total freedom. Even Denmark and Germany have age restrictions, licensing requirements for sellers, and laws against public intoxication. What Daniel's describing is a hypothetical. But the closest real-world examples — Denmark, Germany, Japan — suggest that liberal alcohol policies don't lead to social collapse. They lead to different patterns of consumption and different types of problems.
Different, not necessarily worse.
Germany has more public drinking but less binge drinking than the UK. Japan has vending machine beer but strong social norms against visible intoxication. Every system has trade-offs.
The takeaway for Daniel on his bench is: enjoy the beer, don't worry about the law because it's almost certainly not being enforced against someone in your situation, and don't worry about what passersby think because they're not thinking about you.
If you want to change the laws you disagree with, advocate for evidence-based policy. Push for minimum pricing if you care about heavy drinkers. Push for liberalized hours if you care about shift workers and night owls. But don't let the current laws make you self-conscious about a completely reasonable behavior.
That's good advice. For Daniel and for anyone else who's ever felt weird about having a beer in a park.
The park is for everyone. Including the person with a beer and a book.
Now: Hilbert's daily fun fact.
Hilbert: The national animal of Scotland is the unicorn. It has been since the twelve hundreds, when it was used on the Scottish royal coat of arms. Scotland is one of the few countries whose national animal is a mythological creature.
That tracks, somehow.
This has been My Weird Prompts, produced by Hilbert Flumingtop. You can find every episode at myweirdprompts dot com. If you enjoyed this, leave us a review wherever you get your podcasts — it helps.
Until next time.
