Past It

I am going to ration myself with these Christmas biscuits made by son#2 as a Christmas present to me. I have little doubt that His Lordship has already scoffed his boxful, but I intend to limit myself to one per day.

The small town feel to Edinburgh that existed all through my childhood and teenage years has disappeared and what has taken its place is a city of everlasting tourism where the good burghers are eclipsed by hordes of holiday makers. Every year it becomes more like an unwelcome metropolis.

Having just recovered from Christmas, the city is gearing up for the Hogmanay spectacular, with Princes Street Gardens a building site for the erection of temporary stages and accompanying sound systems. Barriers line the streets and portable loos lie in serried ranks. Tourists sashay slowly along the pavements and clog the coffee houses. The more idiotic* gather in groups round the statues of David Hume and Greyfriars' Bobby rubbing toes and noses while the pedestrians spill onto the roadway in avoidance tactics.

I know, I know, I am talking like an old biddy past her sell by date. I should move to the countryside with a cat, some chickens and a possibly a cow, but HL doesn't want to come with me - that's the problem......!

* this tourist needed help to reach Bobby's nose