The Early Birds

This is not a festive dry ski slope in the middle of Edinburgh, rather the covered escalators gracing the revamped Waverley Station as seen from a vantage point on North Bridge.

Call it madness, for that is what it is, when His Lordship leaves the house at 7:45 am in the dark and heavy rain to cadge a lift from the partner of my friend-of-many-talents to the hills at Biggar, while I take to the streets an hour later still in the same conditions to find the elusive bin liners at John Lewis.

We have different types of rain in this part of the world: it was not a smirr of rain, nor was it poring cats and dogs, it was just persistent heavy rain which left the pavements and gutters struggling to cope with the puddles.

Nothing daunted, waterproofed to a degree in my boots and anorak, I walked with my bin liners through the town to Tollcross and the Temple of Sunday toast now masquerading today as the Tuesday rendezvous café for a get together with Hilary,a cycling buddy, and a chance to dry out.

Now home with the lights and heating on, I can sit in comfort and look out of the windows at the forlorn people tramping over the Meadows to and from Marchmont in the distance with its wet blackened tenements.