Edinburgh (return)

After I enjoyed the Gledhill and Callaghan show so much a couple of weeks ago, I suggested to the Minx that we might pop up and see it together. Working her bargain seeking magic, she managed to get us a couple of cheap first class tickets to Edinburgh, so today we headed north.

Perhaps if the taxpayer-funded government subsidies for the train services didn't go into the pockets of the privately-owned train operators' shareholders, we could all travel this comfortably all the time. (Quick note: Network Rail has has returned over one billion pounds to the government since it returned to public ownership in 2009. The Tories want to re-privatise it.*)

Anyway, we rolled into Waverley station happy and relaxed, and went up to Princes Street so that the Minx could take some photos on which to base another of her cityscapes. Then we made our way across into the Old Town and down into the Grassmarket where we found a lovely little café for a coffee.

Recharged, we mooched around for a while. I refrained from trotting out my Grassmarket anecdote - I know a chap who is related to the last person who was hanged there - because, firstly, it's not that interesting but secondly, and more saliently, because I'm pretty sure I will have told her previously. So, as I bit my lip, we eventually headed down to The Pilgrim on Cowgate, where the gig was to take place, for some lunch.

Today's photo is the sign outside the pub. I wouldn't say it's a personal motto, although I do have a t-shirt with that written on it, but it's a thought that I take some solace from now and again.

You'll be pleased to hear that the gig was good and afterwards we retreated across the road to Bannerman's for a few drinks with Amy and David - aka Gledhill and Callaghan - and David's girlfriend. All too soon, though, the alarm on the Minx's 'phone went off and we return to the station for a lovely, woozy, first class slumber home.

*The morons.