Fight!

A leisurely breakfast - fresh fruit, yoghurt, and my speciality - waffles. I think I'm getting better at them now.

Becky came to take Archie out for the morning. He had a good run around chasing after his frisbee, and, because he didn't bring it back, Becky had a good run around too fetching it. All good.

We sat out in the morning sun with Mavis before she set off back home, but it won't be too long when we meet up again.

JR went off to get some supplies, while I gave Archie a holiday haircut. It was such a lovely late afternoon, I decided to go down to the Royal Mile to see what's going on. And it was all happening! What fun it was, including a bubble man, and a real fight. Two men were yelling at each other, faces inches apart, and their respective women were yelling blue murder too. I asked my neighbouring spectator, ingenuously, if it was a Fringe 'show'... Soon the police arrived, but not before one of the combatants walked away, and the opposing woman threw her glass of beer at him. They had a bigger audience than some of the real performers.

I told Archie we'd walk home through the Meadows if my bus was not within 5 10 minutes. 14 minutes. Drat. I promised myself a Frisky on the way, but it was mobbed. Onwards. We had a bit of a rest while listening to an opera singer. She was wonderful, but I'm not sure Archie liked the high notes. Though he wasn't as rude as some children who clapped their hands to their ears and screwed up their faces. I was fair puggled when I got home.

The two policemen were good sports, though they complained about their knees when I asked them to get down low (rather than hold Archie and a machine gun...) Other people were taking photos of the group as well. Love the look on Archie's face.

This chap had a good idea, he was mobbed and his bag was full of money. People posed as tiny Scottish folk, while their friends (and random nosey strangers) took photos.

This chap had a nice hat on, and it looks like Archie is wearing a red hat, but he isn't. Love the clenched glum, stoic, faraway look on Archie's face.

I think the opera singer was hitting a particularly high note, and he turned to me with a pleading look. Poor Archie.

We're off on holiday tomorrow!