Police Box Coffee Booths

We didn't have a coffee at this booth. It was closed, so saving us the choice. In fact I have rarely seen it open:perhaps we pass at the wrong time of day.

I must say that whoever thought of making these erstwhile police boxes with their eerie sirens which disturbed my childhood with their undulating wail, warning of imminent German air raids, into friendly coffee bars must have been good at lateral thinking.
We have three in our immediate vicinity and the nearest one even has a tiny vegetable garden attached.

As His Lordship and I strode across country over the Meadows and Bruntsfield Links this morning, it was sad to see the grass peppered with scorched rectangles, the exact dimensions of those throw away instant barbecues so beloved by the city flat dwellers who picnic on the grass in the hot summer evenings.

Not only do the picnickers literally leave their mark in bare earth, they also leave their litter in situ for the refuse collectors to pick up.

That mind set is foreign to me, but if I blame their parents, then I blame my own generation for poor parenting.
I can only hope my children pick up and dispose of their litter correctly: they were certainly taught to.

And what do you know? The sun has appeared again, people are beginning to lie out on the grass and the passing orientals have their parasols up.
Heaven indeed.

PS I have just seen a Proclaimer walk past the foot of the garden.