Who you gonna call? Well, maybe the polis.

While pottering to Mum and Dad's after work, and after a putative visit to Saughton Park to say hello to the bandstand, I came across an actual working phone box.  I think this must be another of the more modern kind whose name I can't remember, but this example is unfortunately now resplendent in washed-off graffiti, peeling and faded vinyl graphics, receiver hanging on the hook at a jaunty angle, and a slightly rusty cash box.  I thought it rather amazing in a world of mobile phone ubiquity, that I've now seen two working phone boxes in less than a week.

I say putative, insofar as I went there but decided discretion was the better part of valour, and cowardice being the better part of discretion, in not wanting to be anywhere near the ten or so grey hoodie-clad late teen miscreants who were climbing all over the roof of the nearby electrical plant building that is adjacent to the glazed palm house and slightly less but still suitably worryingly adjacent to the bandstand.  I know it is the plant building because I've been inside.  There are a lot of volts and amps floating around in there.  The police drove past at precisely the right time and…carried on up the road in happy ignorance.  I will visit the bandstand again when the situation is more agreeable.