Holyrood

Push the button, don't push the button, trip the station, change the channel.

Sunday was a proper scorcher, dear reader! At a guess, it was 25ºc at lunchtime. A picnic in Holyrood Park was in order. En route, we stopped off at Marks and Spencer to pick up some delicious items for a lazy lunch. I say lazy because some woman (or man, you sexist pig) made everything for me in a factory somewhere in the United Kingdom. And what a good job they did, too. One can't really go wrong with Marks and Spencer. Actually, that's a lie. Once, things went decidedly wrong. I bought a packet of salt and vinegar crisps from their store in Glasgow. Not a drop of vinegar nor a grain of salt were in sight. Have you ever eaten crisps with no flavour at all, my little maid? They're absolutely awful.

Our few hours in the park were splendid, sat atop Haggis Knowe, though short-lived. The clouds came rolling by at around 14:00 and the midges began to gather. And horse-flies. Which I can't stand. I don't think they'd ever hurt you, but the way they hover in groups of one hundred and more, above your head, well, it's very frightening, my lamb!

We said goodbye to our splendid 360º view; the city skyline, the Palace, St Margaret's Loch, Arthur's Seat and took a short walk, across the road, to The Scottish Parliament. It's a very ugly building, in my opinion, and lacks any distinguishing feature. It's not iconic at all, sadly. It's just a mess. My disdain for it grows with every visit. Really, I shouldn't go, hen. I'll get high blood pressure.

Everybody comes to Holyrood. They want to make it in the neighbourhood. They like the smell of it in Holyrood. How could it hurt you when it looks so good, dear reader?