Say it slowly tour Day 8: Edinburgh, Irn Bru and defying gravity

Woke up feeling better that I probably should have, but maybe it’s one of those things: whisky drunk in Edinburgh during the festival doesn’t give hangovers. it’s a theory anyway. Head a little fuzzy, but nothing that a full breakfast and Irn Bru at the Whiski Bar on the Royal Mile couldn’t fix. Full breakfast wasn’t really full, no black or white pudding, but the bacon was perfect. Admired the whisky menu, too.

Then I went off and climbed the Scott monument, all 270 steps or whatever. Rankin calls it a gothic phallic symbol, or something similar. It’s a fair description.

Having climbed the Wallace monument, built around the same time, I’m forming a theory in two parts. The first is that Victorian Scots were a lot thinner than folks nowadays, as the stairs are a very narrow spiral. The second is that they didn’t actually think that there would be folks going up and down at the same time. At least the top of Scotland has passing places, no such thing here. Spent some time clinging to the central stone while folks squeezed around me.

I wore the granny strap on my glasses, to stop them blowing off (thanks Andrew for turning this irrational fear into a rational one). Looked out over the edge, through the bars. It’s a long way down. Great views, saw the top of the Firth/Forth Bridge, the highlands, the roadworks on Princes St, Arthur’s Seat, all sorts of scenery.

Coming down is easier than going up. Gravity works. Felt good to have done the climb.

Then walked some more, finding myself back at the Whiski Bar for lunch: Cullen Skink and a couple of drams. I do like Cullen Skink, creamy, smokey, fishy, with big pieces of leek and potato. Works well with the Rosebank 12 year old (sigh may that distillery rest in peace). Followed that by setting the barmaid a challenge: surprise me with a dram less than 10 squids. She came back with a Longrow 7 year old, Gran Barrolo, and bloody amazing too. (and under a fiver.)

Thought about going for a lie down on a patch of grass, but instead walked some. Found a kiltmaker of distinction, and without giving too much away, by the time I get back to oz I’ll be able to show off my knees. (And no, it’s not polite to ask a gent if he’s going regimental.)

Then wandered down the Royal Mile to one of my favourite whisky shops, Cadenheads. These guys can get a little fanatical, and are an independent bottler with some interesting product. Came away with an 11 year old Ardmore — apparently could pass for a Caol Ila — and a bottle of the Longrow.

Then popped into the Edinburgh Museum, some unusual and interesting stuff there. Learnt some about the Royal Mile, how it used to have gates, and wasn’t just one big long road. Also got to see Greyfriars Bobby’s collar and dog bowl, got a little teary at that. I miss the animals back home, the dopey beasts.

Shopped out, I went for a lie down, before going in search of dinner. Wandered over to Princes St, and found a pub restaurant that looked promising, but couldn’t find a seat. Found a pub, just missed food service but had a Bunnabhabhin. Fortified, I stepped out into the night, a little frustrated at not finding food. I looked up.

Lit, on the hill above me, sat the castle. It was an uplifting sight, a moment of beauty to remind me that nothing is ever all bad.
Found a fish supper again, skipped the haggis this time.

My pockets have been filling up with all manner of flyers for shows and stuff, and decided to try one. A show about a dead pop star. Six person cast, a little bit of multimedia thrown in. Had some funny moments, but suffered from poorly developed characterisation. The lead roles just didn’t ring true for me — one of the supporting roles, the manipulative manager, was best formed.

Standing in the foyer, waiting for the show, I spotted the cast of another show. i don’t know what show, but uni semi-pro drama types are easy to spot. Just look for a mob of young pretentious wankers with associated sycophants, all with the look of desperation in their eyes that the world needs to give them what they deserve. Sure, not all folks have that, but this mob were all cliche.