An afternoon in Edinburgh

Phyllis and I went into Edinburgh yesterday afternoon. He needed a hair cut.

While he was having said hair trimmed, I took a wee stroll to Bruntsfield Links and laid down on the grass. This is what I could see:



I also saw joggers. Evidently, jogging is a past-time for wankers. I'd rather eat my own shit than become obsessed with running. Really, what is the point? It really is a case of going nowhere fast. Surely there are other more interesting ways of keeping fit, dear reader?



I was soon tired of watching people run about, putters and dog-walkers, so looked for other stimulation.

The Meadows. Only a five minute walk.

I was soon rewarded with a young woman in full lotus, meditating. I wanted to take her photograph, but daren't. I don't want to wreck my karma.

Instead, we have Salisbury Crags and Arthur's Seat, as seen from The Meadows:



Shit! Time to run! I was to meet Phyllis in five minutes. Enough time to photograph the Edinburgh Stone Mason's Memorial pillar. There was another one on the other side of the road, but I did not have time to investigate. I guess, if you're a stone mason, you'll want stone masons to make more than one memorial. Why have one when you can have two?



I love this pub:



If you look closely, you can see a wee balcony. If ever you come to Edinburgh, dear reader, we'll go to this pub and do some rôle play. I'll be Juliet and stand in the balcony. You be Romeo and throw a bunch of flowers up to me!

Go on, you know you want to!

Anyhow, I soon met up with Phyllis and we went for a coffee.

What do you think of the haircut?



Well, I say we went for a coffee - he had tea. Earl Grey. I had a double espresso and a cinnamon swirl.

After the tea and coffee, we thought we'd behave like tourists in our own city. We took loads of photographs. Well, Phyllis took the lion's share. I'll include a few which he took of me. I'm sure he won't mind.

I love cheese:



That's a lovely cheese shop. It's on Victoria Street:



Next stop, Princes Street. That's right, Princes, as in plural of Prince. Not Princess.

I wanted to go to HMV for a mooch. We stopped at the National Gallery, en route, for a tiddle.

The cow parade is still going strong. If you peer over the top of a cow's back, you sometimes see Minge, dear reader:



Keep checking Phyllis' blog, hen. I've a feeling he is soon going to upload some of the other forty four pictures we took that day.

Also, check this out - Phyllis went for a walk up a hill.