In the Mists of Time

‘Twas ever thus in summer with an easterly wind that the dreaded haar shrouds the capital. This morning it cloaked the Castle and Ramsay Garden and obliterated Arthur’s Seat in swathes of cloying mist. I was hopeful that the sun would burn it off quickly but it didn’t and even now after lunch there is still a mist hanging about the trees in the Meadows - not for us east coasters the bright sunshine that the Moray coast is experiencing.

Once upon a time when I was but a youthful maiden, May was a month when one could expect a heat wave of magnanimous proportions coinciding with the exam season. My parents would depart for the Highlands on their annual holiday and come home looking as though they had spent a fortnight on the Costa Brava rather than golfing in Newtonmore.

Having forgotten any lessons I’ve learned about  tourist movement,  I walked into Princes Street to pay a visit to M&S. It was early enough that my passage was not impeded too much but the mistake was to attempt to walk home by the Bridges- a circular walk to vary the outing. That was a big  mistake. By that time the case pullers were out in force along with the map readers not forgetting the trains of people on guided tours and the dilatory visitors. As I passed St Giles, a funeral procession was approaching the west door. I can only hope that they had closed the church to the public unlike the scenario in St Magnus Cathedral when the public were allowed in during a funeral.

Now in mid afternoon we have sunshine from a misty sky slowly turning pale blue, but to give credit where credit’s due, it is 16° warm.