A reggae version of "I'm in the mood for love" comes on as soon as I get my beer and settle down at the edge of a long table. I am in the front section of the pub, this is not my usual spot, but it is nice to see the sunshine and hear the conversations of this late afternoon crowd from around the bar. I take in my surroundings and enjoy my first sip of the slightly warm and hoppy Deuchars. I watch the people pass by.

I know I was supposed to come here today as a Beirut song takes to the air providing a backdrop for the animated Scottish voices. As another loner gets up to leave, I take his place at a more sensible and smaller table by the door. I feel the left behind warmth of the stranger, it is infused into the leather seat. I am tempted to move again, even back to where I was. I decide if I move again, I will seem hard to please. More people leave and I do wonder about moving, but I stop myself and focus on the music. The Rolling Stones come on as I count the people standing by the bar. I take photographs and relish my time here. Nick Cave comes on next and I could be at my old favorite juke-box bar if I closed my eyes and wished it back into existence. Perhaps this is a sign.

Why am I sitting here on the last sunny Saturday of my visit to Edinburgh? Because the first time I came here it felt like home and at the same time it felt like I had finally gotten just far enough away. The warm dark woodwork and the burgundy ceiling with gold painted trim sing to me. Two fireplaces against the back wall with green ceramic tile surrounds would be a delight on a winter day. The worn leather bench seats and heavy wood tables seem to welcome a thirsty visitor. The bar with it's faded elegance make this place a hidden feeling, yet seemingly popular, gem.

The Nick Cave song repeats, I go to the bar to order another pint and some chips and when I return to my table the sun is positively streaming through the front window and illuminates the pale Scottish necks of the young customers sitting in the booth in front of me.

Why is it so liberating to drink at a bar alone? People in Arkansas will tell you I've been a drinker and there are a few people in Edinburgh and Manchester that will tell you I still am. However, it is not the drink as much as the place that excites me. I like the atmosphere outside of one's normal realm, the excited clang of a whole room of drinkers. I love their voices as they tell their stories, as they get more dramatic as they drink more. The music fills and punctuates the gaps in between. I love the smiling faces as the people come together to let go, let loose, to relax, to bond. The sun shines through the grey cracks in the fortress that is Edinburgh and everyone wants to laugh and be seen.

I watch four younger people as they talk, two pairs of couples and I wonder what they are thinking. They laugh at each others jokes and they stare into each others eyes while they speak as if they are the only ones in the whole world.

My chips come and go as does my second pint and some ska music comes on. I am relieved in some ways that I am alone. No strained listening, no stories to tell, just the one to make up for myself right here and now. I play a bit part in this bar story, I am just the woman in the corner watching, writing and taking photographs. Not a bad role to play on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

The sun continues to stream across my table, so bright and wonderful and I think I might be able to live here after all...