A Historical Enactment

Some people chat at length with their hairdresser but I would rather have an hour chatting with my chiropodist as she cuts and buffs my toe nails and files away any callouses. It is a much more intimate relationship we have, with my feet as the intermediary. I would never have believed 20 years ago that I would have entertained the idea of having anyone touch my feet but age alters one’s requirements,  when one’s own nails become resistant to the clippers. Today was nail cutting day and I shimmied  over to Marchmont for the occasion. An hour and a half later and considerably lighter in the pocket, I met up with a book group friend for coffee and a moan about the nominated book and a resumé of world events.

Later I went a chilly walk round the Meadows and found my self accosted by one of the Jehovah Witness lads who wanted to engage me in conversation as to why I didn’t go to church. I kept on walking and he fell into step beside me, but getting nowhere, he eventually wished me a ‘good day’. I hope this is not going to be regular occurrence as it was a a few years ago.
As I walked home I came upon this scene, some sort of historical enactment. They seemed to practising something but it all looked ridiculously out of place and time.

Finally at 3pm the sun appeared and transformed a wintry day into a spring one. I’m hoping that the pesky north wind changes direction soon  - it’s keeping us east coasters a tad chilly.