Well then, H is for house, home, hidden, heartsore…and so on. J is for junk, just junk. But what is I for? On yet another sleepless night, rummaging through my newly made house-moving alphabet, it’s odd I can’t remember.Continue reading
A sunny morning and cafe tables are out on the pavement. Pigeons strut, seagulls soar and two women sip a breakfast smoothie by the bus stop. Slowly, oh so slowly, Rodney Street is gaining a sense of place. Continue reading
A couple of bees are busy burying themselves in the private parts of bright pink geraniums. I have it on good authority that ladybirds often lurk among the leaves and grasses too. Oblivious to streams of noisy traffic, nature is thriving on an island of wildness in Broughton. Continue reading
This is a museum, the real off license is closed
Imagine a country where supermarkets do not sell wine and spirits and the only off licence chain is owned by the state. What’s more the offy closes at 3pm on Saturdays and doesn’t open at all on public holidays. No, of course that country is not Scotland but would the Scottish Government be bold enough to nationalise drink?
It’s a day for new beginnings. While crowds gather to welcome Obama on the other side of the Atlantic, Ray and I celebrate change with a glass of wine over lunch on the opening day of yet another new restaurant in our neighbourhood. Broughton is now surely the cafe culture centre of Edinburgh. We’re the only diners in the place so far but L’escargot bleu deserves to thrive. Continue reading