Hullo there ma wee blog,
On Sunday, after a stressful week at work, the lovely G was left early doors for a much needed long lie in while I padded off downstairs to drink coffee, potter and do some overdue housekeeping on my laptop, part of which was playing with labels for the posts on this here blog. As usual for a novice I no doubt have complicated things too much. I'll look at it again later perhaps.
I also installed a visitor counter which shows the countries of folk reading the blog. While it probably wasn't the primary reason for wanting to start blogging initially its nice to know that what I scrape out of the brain cell is read somewhere once in a while, and of course if you are here and reading the output of my addled brain then feel free to leave me a note if you like. Even if its to advise me to give up or seek professional help that's awright.
I have wandered somewhat off piste a bit here as usual. I started this to update what my Sunday consisted of.
After a leisurely brunch we decided we would go out to visit some friends, the parents of one of our God daughters, to take the wee one some clothes we had just bought for her, but as it was an off the cuff thought of course we found when phoning ahead that they were out. So we ended up at "The Fort" one of Edinburgh's prime retail locations ably designed for parting unsuspecting souls from their hard earned baw-bees.
Moi being moi, I also decided that I would opt out of the trawl round the dens of iniquity with the exception of Borders books, where the lovely G could find me when she had finished traumatising our overdraft. I have learned { painfully } over the years not to get in the way of a { read MY } woman determined to have some retail therapy, so I headed for the sanctuary of the cafe, or is it a coffee shop, what is the difference, at the back of Borders.
{I would just like to say here and now, quite freely, uncoerced and not in pain, that the lovely G is not usually guilty of traumatising our bank balance in any way, shape or form. Never know who might be reading this stuff! Jings! }
I had forgotten how expensive a simple coffee can be in one of those places.
Crivens! Mine cost me nearly 30 quid.........
But I got, ahem, free with my coffee.........
'The Alchemist' by Paul Coelho
'The Voluptuous Delights of Peanut Butter and Jam' by Lauren Liebenberg
'The Complaints' by Ian Rankin
The lovely G returned and we had coffee together before heading into town to park up and make our way to meet Marion, a friend I hadn't seen for a couple of years. No reason for that I suppose other than she has been closer to the lovely G and they meet occasionally for drinks, coffee or the odd film or theatre night.
Sunday night though we had a meal before heading off for the fireworks which mark the end of the Edinburgh festival for another year. A massive show from the castle ramparts and linked to a concert which takes place in the open air theatre below in Princes Street Gardens. We had managed to bag some tickets for access to a private party in a bar in one of the streets looking up onto the castle. Access to many roads is restricted this year because of the Tram works so it was great to be able to get into a prime location for the show.
The bar, on the other hand was something else: very trendy, exclusive and the haunt of the beautiful and well heeled of the student classes. It may come as a surprise but I dont fit into any of those pigeon holes.
Inside we were give two marbles each which we could exchange for free cocktails. The girls went for a strawberry one and a martini based one with lots of ice and vegetation sticking out of it. It looked like it couldn't make its mind up if it was a drink or a salad to me. Still, whatever floats your boat as they say. Being more traditional, read PLEBEIAN, I stuck to beer, or the closest to that which was a continental lager for a fiver {choke}. Lots of very glam young ladies either in very short cocktail type dresses with lots of bosom on display or carefully understated designer chic. The guys were uniformly 6 foot anorexic looking baa- studs with Ferrari/Porsche/other sporty key fobs in their hands. But that could just be me being a bit insecure. Just a wee bit.
Mebbe.
I fitted right in of course with my chinos and tee shirt and received several admiring glances as I stood at the bar for what felt like twenty minutes trying to attract the attention of the beautiful, over friendly and attentive - with every one else - bar staff, who, whenever they finished serving someone seemed to be so exhausted they had to go and lean on the end of the bar furthest from me and have a wee drink themselves. And a chat with their friends. And eat some canapes. And......ach well you get the idea I'm sure.
I managed to attract ones attention by cheekily dying of dehydration at my end of the bar and she shimmied - dontcha love that word - across to take my order.
In truth she was stunning, very scandinavian; short haired, fine chinned, beautifully proportioned and revealingly dressed - not that I noticed of course. Unfortunately she seemed to have failed her 'O' level basic cocktail making skills course by quite a long way and it took her about 8 minutes to cobble together a strawberry thingy and a cabbage patch on ice. After a few more minutes waiting while she showed me her A+ skills in putting a huge head on a pint, {No jokes about me asking her for that pls!.} I left with the drinks and she left, exhausted, traumatised and almost tearfully, for the other end of the bar again.
When the first bang indicated the fireworks had started and everyone left for out side - OK,OK, I admit it. That's how I managed to attract the barmaids attention, alright - and I had the drinks, I too left for outside to watch the show. The two girls had been successful in claiming a prime spot - canny fight these young uns - especially when they have their good frocks on - and we settled down to enjoy the evening.
Well worth it.
Super!
Smashing!
Lovely!
See you later.
Listening to Men Without Hats, 'The Safety Dance'
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