Finding Goya

The cobbled lanes at the back of MiddleMeadow Walk are lined with what are now small garages but were once stables for the horses of the gentry that inhabited George Square. Sometimes there is a door lying open and on view is a motorbike being lovingly mended and restored, by men in oily dungarees. Most of the time the doors are shut and become the canvas for the local yobs’ graffiti. Most of it is abstract and tribal in nature and most likely rude. This I don’t think is or I wouldn’t be posting it, but you never know. To me, it’s a nice play on words.

I reneged this morning on braving the tourist trail to town and chose to visit Morningside instead,  where one can rub shoulders with authentic residents and forage in the Marks and Spencer’s food outlet before walking back home over the countrified green space of Bruntsfield Links where few tourists go now that the Pitch and Putting course is shut for the winter.

It’s raining again and I am holed up in the erstwhile Man Cave, immersed in a beautiful book, homework for the next Book Group meeting, called ‘The Offing’ by Bernard Myers - a Cider with Rosie kind of book and a spot-on winner for a gloomy Monday afternoon at the end of January.