Out on a Limb

This is another genus of Homo Sapiens; a tree-creeper as opposed to a tree-piddler.
I spotted him out on a limb, high up above the tombstones in my favourite graveyard of Greyfriars.
He is a bit of a loner but with the means to make a very old rasping call, and attracts much attention and admiration as he systematically destroys his perch.

As I sit outside again under my sun umbrella recovering from an étape to the Land of Flowers with his Lordship to buy insecticide (not for his tea, but for the ailing bay tree), I am inclined to pen some ramblings:-

In Scotland, the land of the bagpipes, what is the insistent noise heard on the Meadows where the young and underemployed students recline in the sun? The bongo drums beating out a repetitive rhythm for hours on end, the noise perhaps carrying to the land of their origin.

It's interesting that with both sexes represented in the sea of youth over the railings, the girls sit quietly talking in social groups , while the boys spend all their time kicking footballs, rugby balls, throwing frisbees and generally running around like demented beings.

With notices asking for responsible use of barbecues in designated sites, it would appear that no-one pays a blind bit of attention and just lights up wherever they are sitting.

Every morning, early, the municipal rubbish pickers up (we used to call them scaffies, but they will have a politically correct name now) and their truck spend an hour collecting up all the bags and detritus left behind in situ from the night before, by unsociable picnickers.

It is a well known fact that bus pass holders become more intolerant with age, and I seem to be fitting the mould. I am turning in to that most obnoxious being, a grumpy old woman.
Oh to be young, carefree and thoughtless again.