A Bandsman of the 3rd Rifles

What is it about parades that causes the skies above Edinburgh to shed their tears the moment the band strikes up?

Perhaps it was with respect to the soldiers of the 3rd Rifles who didn't make it home from Afghanistan to march down the Royal Mile and accept the freedom of the City of Edinburgh this morning. If so, it was a fitting act of remembrance.

Had Meancoast not mentioned the parade in her blip yesterday, we would never have known it was happening, and even Google wouldn't give an inkling about the timing. This meant that, going by road closures, His Lordship and I found we were an hour too early for the start, allowing us to sample the hot chocolate available at the Missoni Hotel..... at a price, I have to say.

I' m happy that the heavens relented and the sun came out shortly afterwards, hopefully shining on the soldiers as they reached Holyrood Park, but we turned for home in order that His Lordship could warm up before our next outing to the opening of a tapestry exhibition in Leith this afternoon.

I don't feel the cold any more in my newly acquired red down jacket which he says makes me look like a red snowball, but a toasty snowball at that.

I don't care, when it's like walking around in a down sleeping bag.
You can see my reflection to the right in the bell of this musician's tuba.