Euer, Oliver, myself and Simone at the restaurant yesterday

Not having gone to bed too late on Saturday (it must have been 3am or so), I got up and checked out of the B&B, then strolled down Gilmore Place. I bought the Scotsman On Sunday at what used to be my local corner shop, but unfortunately didn't recognise anyone at the till. Spotted the hairdresser still there, another corner shop now converted into a Costcutter, and noticed the famed ice cream shop on the Home Stret corner is gone and forgotten. Walking down past the Cameo cinema, past shops that have disappeared and been replaced, I couldn't help but think I was nostalgic to the point of being a local. "Och aye laddie, when Ah wis a younger man there wis a chippie here, nice an aw.." But the Film House was still there as I remembered it, and here I met Fiona for brunch. Though I had seen her on Friday night we were in a rush with the tickets, and hadn't a chance to speak to her really. It was great to see her again whilst finally stilling my rumbling belly and waking up with coffee. And yet it's strange, not having seen her in years, to see how she's a suave city lass now rather than the bouncy flatmate with Madonna on full blast, that she used to be.

Though I then hurried down Lothian Road and Princes Street to get a bus towards Tranent, I wasn't to meet my old friend Rob. As soon as I got on the bus and out of town, Simone texted me: "Are you ready? We want to leave." Fully expecting me, of course, to rush to the camp site instead, jump in a car and be off. As the bus to Tranent would pass Drum Mohr on the way, I had to quickly decide to see Rob and get a train home - or call it a day and let Rob know..

A few miles out of Edinburgh, the Picasso fogged up in a matter of seconds just when we were on a roundabout trying to get to the M8. The Volvo therefore followed three damp and steaming gadges in a Citroën bubble, frantically trying to mop the water from the windows. Oliver was smug for a bit, as the satnav wouldn't have been as foggy. Though the M8 got us away quickly after that, I had expected a turn South a bit sooner than Glasgow (aye, no maps) and we ended up being near Carlisle no quicker. Lunch at Teabay Services was overpriced but al right, and after that we got to Manchester in no time at all. Bart dropped me off in Kearsley from where I walked home - he dropped the car off at Manchester Airport, and we all ended up home safe. Missing Edinburgh like missing a few heartbeats.

Labels: travel

Having driven from Manchester to Edinburgh straight after work.. Then watching a comedy show from 10.30 pm till 'late', we had to wonder where on Friday night we could pitch a few tents. We decided to think about it in the Cowgate, at the Three Sisters in particular. By the time Oliver and I had visited a pizza place on the Grassmarket and returned, a decision still had not been met. Later, in the Opium club, we still hadn't a clue, and as pubs started to close around us we went back to the cars.

Ach well, we were parked quite nicely and quietly (surprisingly!) on Castle Terrace. We slept in what we drove there. Oliver seemed comfortable with the two girls in his Volvo. Bart and his girlfriend enjoyed the spacious front seats of the Picasso, and I figured I had space in the back. With the rear seat folded down, I crawled into the massive trunk and folded away. Though I had to appreciate the high ceiling and the darkness, by 7 am I ached all over and felt suffocated. I got out the car, tried to convince Bart we should go - but the rest had been more comfortable it seemed. Nae bother, I walked towards Princes Street and got a Ploughman's sandwich. When I walked back though, I met Bart and Oliver in their cars on Lothian Road. They had decided to go and find a camp site. Great, I jumped in for some fun, following Oliver's satnav and the camp icons on it's screen. First we did a few rounds of Charlotte Square, then I asked them if they wanted coastal, foresty or central locations. I did have a bit of trouble guiding us down Queen Street and further towards Musselburgh through ever smaller streets.. But soon enough we ended up on Drum Mohr, near Prestonpans and with view of the sea. After everyone had set up a tent, I had the choice of heading back, or sleeping in a car again. I grabbed a bus back to the city.

Scouring my old street, Gilmore Place, for a cheep but cheerful B&B, a stunning Polish girl quoted me £55 for a single bedroom for the night that she could make immediately. Very tempting, but even through I could smilingly convince her to knock a tenner off, I decided to try my luck at another B&B and was offered £35 by an old unfriendly looking man, for an immaculate room however that I could immediately sleep in. I slept till 4pm or so, then went to the city centre and tried to convince Simone not to get off the bus before Princes Street. But failed - they picked the restaurant (Al Fresco, Leith Walk) and I had to run towards it. Of course I cursed the sky blue (it stpped raining for a second), but in fairness the food was excellent. We followed it up by walking back to the Cowgate and Grassmarket, from pub to club. Through the rain of course, and lots of it. Simone caught Oliver and myself at Victoria Terrace, dancing with a witch. See the picture below..



Then our worst decision. Oliver, Euer, Simone and myself walked from the Grassmarket back to the Royal Mile for the Mercat Ghost Tour, while Bart and Katrina remained at the Grassmarket to outdrink a few Scots. We met 'Black Agnes', as we were supposed to call a seemingly blonde faux-gothic looking woman - who struck me as a holiday worker with residence in a nearby hostel, to be fair. She shouted a nice story about a beautiful prince who was literally gutted at the cross, before marching us down to the Blair Street Vaults. Now this I had been looking forward to. What apparently is the most haunted place in Scotland though, was ruined for us by a private party going on in an adjacent vault.. The mere idea this was possible was a letdown, but the beats also drowned out any possible eerie foorsteps and sighs. With that gone, what remained was a cave-like cellar, really. Hardly worth writing home about, but the internet can handle my rant, surely. Walking through Edinburgh though, on desperately rainy evenings - was cool. the ghost tour was concluded with a visit to Canongate cemetary, at the foot of the High Street - an old but hardly spooky cemetary. Having been told about a monster murdering a local boy though, who was thought to be buried here, Simone did shiver slightly when a dog howled nearby. I slept like a baby in my B&B that night, while the others got used to incessant rain and thunder under their canvas shelters.

Labels: travel

It takes a bit of organising, when you decide to visit Edinburgh and invite your colleagues to come with. Luckily, the more colleagues joined, the more they did about organising the trip. Where I thought we could all just hop on the train after work, we ended up going in a Volvo and a rented Citroën Picasso, with tents in the back. My Flemish fiend and colleague Bart drove the Picasso North on the M6 with his French girlfriend Katrina beside him and myself in the back, regularly at (ehhrm) a bit of speed. Oliver, who Bart and I had both worked with at Unilever years ago, followed closely behind in his Volvo - with our colleague Simone and her visiting Dutch friend Euer.

Our main aim was to see the "Amsterdam Underground Comedy Collective" at the Edinburgh Fringe, a show that promised us Dutch comedy superstars in small venue (Assembly @ The Tron, Hunter Square) - strutting their stuff in English for the first time. Mixed reviews, but the prospect of seeing Hans Teeuwen and Theo Maassen really gave us flutters. Imagine seeing Eddie Murphy and Billy Connolly at your local pint puller's, if you'd like to imagine our excitement..

We arrived in the nick of time, Oliver's satnav having routed us through Penicuik but we managed to park easily at Castle Terrace. The venue being at the Royal Mile, did however mean a walk around Castle Hill and up from the Grassmarket. Having wiped the sweat off our underground collective foreheads, my friend Fiona met us with the tickets. We entered the Tron, went down to the stage through a smell of urine and settled at the back - by the bar - while Micha Wertheim started presenting the evening's programme. I was pleasantly surprised to see the first comedian of the night: Hans Sibbel. I had already seen Dolf Jansen live a few years ago, who famously doubles up with Sibbel annually at New Years eve to take the piss out of the year's events. I got my first beer down while Hans Sibbel found it a tough crowd, and made way for more of Micha and the next comedian: Wouter Meijs. Never heard of him, but a 6'7 Dutchman is always pleased to see another lanky Dutchman on stage. Hans Sibbel had already touched on the subject of child pornography and the missing Madeleine, but Wouter delved into it further. It wasn't too funny, but became excruciatingly less so when a resoundingly Middle-English sounding twit started heckling. Sick jokes about sexual abuse apparently don't sit well when a missing girl is in the news. Understandable really, but then - why visit an 'edgy' comedy show if you have no edge nor a sense of humour?

By now we were all really pining for Hans Teeuwen to shut the heckler up, or for Theo Maassen to send her running with arms flailing. The next performer however was Kees van Amstel, who struck me as a Secondary School teacher type. Quite friendly and less of a child molester by the choice of his jokes (he probably steered clear of it on purpose), he pacified the crowd somewhat. Micha's presentation too, in between of the performers, kept pint glasses from flying towards them. And then, after an hour or so, that was the end of it. We glared and stared at the stage for a bit, wondering what had happened to the top billed comedians and why we had travelled over 200 miles for a rather disappointing night. But I shrugged it off easily: the trip had been good, the show had been alright and we had two days of Edinburgh yet to come. I felt overjoyed just to be in Auld Reekie again. The rest agreed.

Labels: travel

As the picture above proves, Lottie and I set to conquer Hermitage Castle earlier today. Unfortunately, the mediaeval stronghold near Newcastleton in the Scottish Borders stands rather strong still. Well, unfortunately.. It's quite beautiful and imposing actually! You can find a few more pictures of the castle below, as well as a Youtube clip.

Labels: travel

As this is a joke about two Irish fairies not unlike the 'wee free men' from the Terry Pratchett novels, I'm telling it in my best Scots. This language is very close to English, so you'll get the joke if you read on regardless of whether you speak it.

Twa wickit wee clurichauns tha haed been stravaigin aroond Blackpool Pleasure Beach aw gif the foregane nicht, fand thaimsels waukin up in bricht sunlicht an surroontit by fowk. Unalike maist brounies thae were nae fashed aboot the fowk. Maist couldnae see faeries ava, sae there wis nocht tae wirry. The sun hoaniver giein thaim sair heids, waurin thair hingowers. It shoud be weel-kent broun faeries cannae bronze an aw.

Swift seekin a guid scug, the twa decided tae twyne an hae a guid deek roond. The aulder gif the twa brounies suin fand a tuimed kinnen den, yet haed tae wait fir the wee yin tae retour. He makkit himsel a coothie wee haudin and bided a twee, or thirty mair like.

"Whit cam o youse than, ye saunterin radge?" the aulder clurichaun speirt the wee yin, that himsel wisnae cantie leukin. "Aye, weel.." the wee yin telt, "whan Ah cam athort a wee locus on the saunds, atween twa lang braes. Feckin braw leukin ava, Ah thocht Ah'd better guide misel an uise the chapper. At first, thair wis nae repone, sae Ah pitit mair maucht intae the chappin. It was than Ah coud hear some soond. Houaniver, naebody at the door likesay. Ah wasnae gaun tae be sent aff sae rochlie. Ah chappit some mair, gript the lang cord fir her jowe and hirthit tha an aw, till efter ten meenits Ah coud at lang lest make oot a queans vyce, tellin misel she wis gaun tae come. The joukerie-pawkerie naiver did sae much tho. Och aye, as Ah conteenad Ah coud see she wis turnin wickit - Ah'm tellin ye the hail haudin wis pirrin up an doon on the saunds wi the baith gif us giein it aw. Misel ah kept quate, yet the quean screiched aiver mair faized tha se wis comin. Ah wasnae feart, fir shuir, well, tha is.. Nae richt feart, yet ye ken a gadge has tae ken whan tae fecht an whan tae scour. An whan she let lowse a deep grunch, follaed it wi an deavenin skirl tha naurhaund spleetit mah heid.. Ah wis conseederin mah awa-gaun. Ainly than it wis tha Ah saw whit batter she haid snaikily kivertit aroond misel, still skooshin it at mah heid as Ah stuid thair by her door. She wis lauchin by the noo, richt rairie too. As yen ken unnerstaund, this is whan Ah uptailit. Ah had tae reinge misel in the faem afore jynin ye in yer fair abode, siccarlie."

The aulder o the twa clurichans leuked at his marrae dumfoonderit. "Whit wis the name o this awfu steid, do ye ken?" "Nae idea pal, yet Ah git the name on the door: Ann Summers."