Evening

I cannot be in Edinburgh this evening which is a great pity as a dear friend is having a Burns supper with an eclectic gathering of acquaintances to celebrate the life and times of Scotland's favourite bard.

It's also the big bliptogether event in our capital city, which I would have immersed myself in an for an hour or so, bedecked in my tartan trews, en route to my friends house in the New Town. However, alas and alack it was not to be .....

So, instead, I toast the bard and absent friends, as I continue work on my screenplay ( which, if it's ever published I'm almost certain to be locked in the Tower, ( of London ) for such irreverence!).

"...... she was very sweet to me: the perfect antidote to Dick's brisk rationalizations. We drank tea and ate toast and jam. Outside, Edinburgh rain turned the grey sooty stone black, like velvet. Lucy had a cottage at Elie in Fife, which she offered to lend to me if I 'needed some peace and quiet to work'. What work? I said. You're a writer, for God's sake, she said. You've got to keep on writing ......... "

from, Any Human Heart by William Boyd.