Close call.

This is why I hate going for impromptu lunches.

I had just got back from the supermarket, greasy haired and smelling of old men with big dirty hands, when LeeAnne texted suggesting I meet her in the Apple Store and then do lunch.

Oh fuck it, I thought it'll be fun.
No-one told me we'd have to fuck around in Apple for an hour, or that we'd have to go pick up tickets at the station. Without any form of code. Thanks LeeAnne. More faffing. My shit window had closed for the morning. And anyhow there was no-where for me to evacuate. Eventually though, we had huge lunches. Probably not a great idea. Mine was an award winning pie apparently. (I'll be the fucking judge of that). Then a stroll up Cockburn Street to check out every little knick knack shop in great detail. I bought a lovely candle. Then the shit train began to pull into the station. Don't panic I thought, there's just the rest of the street then we can leg it across the bridge and down Leith street then....I told LeeAnne that a shit storm was coming and we should move like the wind. Which we did, after a stop (fuck!!) at Patisserie Valerie for a couple or three Mille feuille to take home. Then we marched like North Korean soldiers on parade across the bridge. I kissed LeeAnne goodbye and got home. Jeez. Just made it. Better than sex. I think. It's been so long, Jimmy Saville was still a saint when I last entertained coitus. Anyhow. Bliss. Sorry it's all come out in one big blob, but that's kinda.....