Neat shells

I had to Gordon’s around tea time. We walk down to the station to catch the 5:30 into town.

It has been literally a year and a half since I’ve been on Princes Street. It’s not as busy as it would have been, but it’s still strangely disquieting to see so many people milling about.

Fishers is busy. We’re shown to our table by a mask wearing waitress. She tries to make conversation, but the sounds that make it through the mask are unintelligible to me. I nod, smiling - although my smile is also hidden by a mask.

The food is excellent. Sara has smoked salmon followed by mussels in white wine sauce. Gordon skips a starter, but munches through a large deluxe fish and chips, which includes some battered prawns. I start with scallops and follow with sea bass.

We have the table for two hours, so we’re in no hurry. Pedro Ximinez with a shared cheese plate. Some grappa and coffee to finish. And then the train home.

I have some Kirkurd calvados in a hip flask. It hits Gordon’s throat the wrong way and he’s temporarily incapacitated by coughing. He recovers, but decides not to drink any more of it.

To complete our public transport adventures, we take the bus back from the station.

And then a long night of talking and drinking around the fire pit in the garden commences. I’m going to feel rough tomorrow.