With Bells on his Toes

This cheery Morris dancer is not what I expected to see on the Playfair Steps this morning as his Lordship and I were on our way down to Stockbridge, that village within a city.
He was the back marker in a troop of them, all jingling shoes and flowery hats, who were en route through Princes Street gardens

They made quite a contrast to the local kilted pipers plying their trade with varying levels of expertise nearby. But you couldn't fault their joie de vivre even if their rigouts were a bit suspect in this land of The Mountain and the Flood and dour Scotsmen.

Stockbridge welcomed us with sunshine and so many coffee shops, it was a hard decision to make as to which one would get our custom.

Being a Southsider all my life, I find it hard to feel entirely at home in this little enclave of Colonies' housing and Georgian villas beside the Water of Leith.

Within my life time it has developed from a rather rundown suburb of Edinburgh to a very desirable post code with its enclave of upwardly mobile professionals, and seems to be the chosen spot for the poshest of posh Fine Art Students from the Home Counties to live, where their dinner parties and general uncharacteristic student lifestyle is legendary.

Today, walking through the cobbled streets around the Colonies in the spring sunshine, it felt exactly like a village.

Now as I type, the Meadows is filling up with hundreds and hundreds of cyclists preparing to ride to the Scottish parliament with demands for more funding for the projects needing to be done in order to get more people safely on the roads on bikes.

His Lordship and I have signed the petition, but have decided not to ride.
It's too stressful cycling in a big crowd with wobbling children and anxious parents.

I have been to watch them setting off and it was quite a sight, taking 25 minutes for everyone to pass.
I hope it makes a difference- there have been too many cyclist fatalities recently.