Grit

Tom and I pootled down to the Grassmarket to meet up with the (middle) man having suddenly discovered Mrs B wasn't going to London for the day and there were options...

Climbing Victoria Street at pace over and over for an hour looks a bit testing to say the least.

After I got home another fellow of my acquaintance got in touch to say he and another chap had cracked open a bottle of Havana Club and some Cuban cigars and were kicking back in the park. So I joined them. And then we harangued a passing guitarist into playing for us. So he did.

Not your average Thursday.