... in Scotland

The Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Scotland

 

 

 

We set off slightly later than intended and had planned to avoid the motorway so were pleased to hear traffic reports that the west bound M27 was closed. Feeling smug, we carried on. These reports continued for the next 5 hours. Whatever had happened on that road was clearly very serious. However, the smugness soon ended when our back roads had a road closed sign, and the diversion was simply a U-turn. Which wasn’t totally helpful.

We stopped at a service station and were tempted by a T shirt for kids which said ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Husband wanted to get one for me. We also foraged for snacks – sandwiches, pasty. I headed off for nuts and cereal bars. But Husband said it had to be biscuits because of my recently discovered low blood sugar levels.

We ploughed on, through the speed restrictions on the M6 and A7 for road works where there were no men at work. The drive became more interesting once we got into the hills. Finally we arrived at Melrose and checked in – once we had driven all the way round the town and back to the start again to find the hotel. Then we meandered into town in search of beer. First of all we discovered the Kings Arms which was serving Stunner, described as a buxom beer! There was also a water tap on the bar for people to water their own whisky with. After a few beers, we went for a wander around the town and found where we wanted to go for dinner on account of the pigeon and haggis starter, and venison and haggis main with whisky sauce. Before dinner we went to the Abbey.

 

 

It was due to close at 5.30 and we arrived there at 5.35. But the shop was open so we wandered in – and straight through to the Abbey. It was a huge building. The side chapels still had clearly marked tombs even though the building was in ruins. It seemed bleak and desolate. As we left we saw that the adult entry fee was £5.50. Oops. We had wandered in without paying anything.

 

 

We went on to try and find the chain link bridge which had been opened in 1826. Due to the beer taking effect I crouched in the bushes for a pee, realising to late that I was in full view of a man peeking out if his tent in the field opposite.

The bridge was in fact very interesting. It had modern reinforcing and strengthening but was still narrow and bouncy. Like the millennium bridge would have been originally.

 

 

There was also a rather alarming warning sign, threatening prison if you over loaded the bridge, but a distinct absence of anyone around to obviously enforce this rule. Perhaps in Scotland all you need is the threat!

 

 

 

I was carrying the pasty with me, conscious that it needed to be eaten as it wouldn’t keep. So we tucked in.

There were a lot of runners around the narrow road and river side lanes we were walking along, which formed part of the Scottish southern uplands coast to coast walk. But this was Scotland. Surely they should have been at home eating fried mars bars. Instead they’re out running while we Southerners are eating a pasty.

In our circular walk back to dinner we past the war memorial. It carried a lot of names for such a small town. Lots of surnames the same – families losing all their sons and husbands. We wondered how many men from the 1910 rugby photo in the pub didn’t come back and were named here. Seeing the memorial was still moving and graphic after last year’s front line visits in France.

In the shadow of the memorial was the rugby ground – where rugby 7’s was invented. It was homely and simple, one stand, then hoardings round the other 3 in front of raised ground where anyone could pitch up as the turnstiles were only on the stand side. It was simple, brilliant. Left as it always was. Round the corner from the hotel was the Ship Inn which was showing the England v Scotland football game – apparently the first game against each other for 14 years. – with a free pie at half time. Now that’s more like it.

Despite not being in an area that would necessarily get horrendous weather the Melrose buildings were low, squat and sturdy, hunkered down in the valley between the surrounding hills.

We headed off for a sensationally good dinner. We hadn’t booked on the basis of how many people can go out in a small town on a Wednesday night. Quite a few it seems. It was almost full. They also served haggis pizza. We had a Scottish version of Eton Mess, followed by cheese which included a whisky cheese.

To walk off the excesses of dinner we wandered back to look at the Abbey by night, through the railings. There were hundreds of bugs visible in the light of the floodlights.

It seems that Scotland lost the football, but the news that evening only showed the Scottish goals.

The following morning we had a sumptuous English breakfast and wondered if that would still be allowed following devolution. But then, as Husband pointed out, they may stop us having Scotch eggs – despite their having been invented by the very English institution of Fortnum and Mason’s. This discussion did however make us wonder if we could get a haggis scotch egg. The waitress asked if we wanted tea or coffee. When we said coffee, she asked if that was black or white. We opted for white. What she brought us was latte, a gross misunderstanding about what constituted white coffee.

From Melrose it was a straightforward drive to Edinburgh. There was a fantastic morning light – bright yellow fields with ominously dark and purple hills behind.

We went to Edinburgh airport to collect our friends and saw their plane landing as we headed into the car park. I went inside to find them. Initially this seemed simple as I quickly found the area where disembarked passengers came out. Then I discovered that actually they could come from either end of the vast baggage claim room I was in. This was less helpful and I found myself darting back and forth across the hall, looking in both directions as though I was watching a tennis game. However, I did finally find them; we located Husband in the car park and headed off the apartment.

The place we were staying in was located in a very 1970’s style building. The apartment was upstairs, along a long, empty and echoing corridor painted in turquoise with a lino floor and slightly curving so that you couldn’t see if someone was lurking at the end. It was like school. Or prison. We used the service lift to get in as there was more space for luggage.

 

 

The apartment itself was fantastically modern and well equipped. Wooden floors, well considered furnishings, roomy and a stunning view.

 

 

 

We had a quick cup of tea and then headed out into town, immediately setting off in the wrong direction which required us to loop round back to the start and try again.

We soon appreciated that Edinburgh is hilly. And cobbled. As we got into town we walked through the gardens and up the side of the castle. More climbing. As we were coming round the side of the castle we saw the tattoo stands perched perilously on the walls above, without very much in the way of support. On the plus side, as there was several feet of fresh air beneath the seats, we determined that there must be a way of relieving yourself without having to move anywhere.

 

We didn’t get to see the 1 o’clock gun go off, but were in the queue for tickets at the time, so we did hear it.

 

 

Then we went for an explore of the castle. One of the most notable areas, to my mind, was the tiny, unassuming room where James 1 of England and James VI of Scotland had been born. The child born here united two nations – who are potentially about to separate again after many centuries. And yet the room was tiny, wood panelled, ordinary. No one in that room, at that time, could have foreseen the history which was then in the making.

 

The dog cemetery clung to a small area of grass along the outer edge of the walls and presumably if too many officers decided to have dogs, this would cause a problem. There was clearly limited burial space.

The crown jewels were much lauded. Unnecessarily so as they didn’t have much. Perhaps the English had taken them. Or perhaps there had been some misunderstanding when the Scots asked the English for the return of their precious stone, and we gave them stone of Scone, the large lump of rock which had sat underneath a regal throne in England.

 

 

On the castle ground was also a grey stoned and morbid war memorial.

Outside there were stunning view across the city with the top of the Forth Bridge just visible in the distance. The biting wind chilled us to the bone so all castled out we forage for something to drink and warm food for lunch.

 

 

Fortunately, not far down the Royal Mile was pub serving good beer, and haggis, neeps and tatties. The bar lady came out to show Steed her furry haggis so that he could see what they looked like in the wild.

To avoid all manner of public using the facilities, the toilets had a door code of 1770. However, Steed became increasingly confused about whether it was 17 70 or 1 double 7 zero. We tried to explain that it all meant the same thing.

On our ongoing traverse down the Royal Mile we popped into St Giles’s cathedral which was small and decorative. Technically, we weren't meant to take photos unless we paid. We hadn't paid. And yet we have photos - naturally I can't explain how that happened.

 

 

The Royal Mile stretched down the hill into the distance, with numerous small and narrow closes falling away from the main drag on either side. Purdey was interested in doing an evening ghost walk, so we secured tickets and then went to the Advocat bar – being called to the bar – outside of which a fringe performer was juggling with a running chain saw.

An older lady on the table opposite us burped loudly. Nice!

There was fringe stuff everywhere, loads of street performers and people handing out flyers for various free events. Churches, halls and bars had stand ups and musician performing, again all for free. A couple dressed as a huge fanny and willy were handing out flyers for something or other. When on the ghost walk a woman said we could buy tickets for events from the half price virgin – oo er. I think she may have meant the Virgin shop though.

The ghost walk was interesting. Once it got going. Initially she wanted to demonstrate public punishment from days of yore and asked for 2 mail volunteers. Husband and Steed were duly nominated. And then publicly flogged by the Scottish demon, who seemed delighted to have two Englishmen at her mercy. Purdey and I didn't laugh. At all. Much. We saw where John Knox was buried, under parking space number 23 outside the law courts. He seemed curiously uncelebrated. The visit culminated in a trip to the southern bridge vaults where a lot of ghost story nonsense abounded. The vaults were dark, uneven underfoot and damp, pungent smelling but filled with stuffy warm air. They had been open arches under the bridge and gradually filled in for storage space. But being warm and damp, they were only suitable to store certain types of product. And ghosts, of course.

After a drink in a dimly lit bar area in the vaults and more silly ghost nonsense, we headed back towards Prince’s street whereupon the weather came in and we were seriously rained on. We took shelter in a McDonalds, and used serviettes to dry ourselves before getting a taxi back to the apartment. On the journey back we could see the fireworks from the castle from that evening’s Tattoo and hoped the weather would be better for the Tattoo event we were booked into.

We had been carrying around a hip flask from which we took our daily tot, while Purdey tried to change her new camera from drunk setting.

The following day we ventured out on the bus to Royal Yacht Britannia. The journey took us through the rougher end of town, typical of any dockland area. It was very rough and ready with a tattoo parlour amusing named Twit Twoo. Husband said it should be called Twit Twat instead. We arrived at the venue and the entrance was on the second floor. You could take steps to get to the first floor, where the department stores were, but had to take a lift to get to the second as there weren’t any obvious signs of more steps. It was a long wait for the lift and we rather suspected that someone somewhere was fannying around. It all became clear when the lift arrived, filled with unmarried young women laden with prams and children.

The yacht itself proved to be a very interesting visit. The Queen’s emotional link to the vessel was clear, knowing it had originally been designed for her much loved father. There was a whalebone on board which necessitated a message to the father. This bone however already featured in his UK bones book. As there was a café serving cream teas it seemed jolly rude not to indulge. So we sat on the sun deck enjoying tea and scones with lashing of clotted cream and jam.

 

 

It was interesting to see the state apartments, nicely arrange rather than overly decorative, and the honeymoon suite of Diana and Charles. Is this where she lost her virginity? The double bed had been installed at the request of Prince Charles for his honeymoon and was the only double bed on board. The Queen and Prince Philip had adjoining rooms, with tiny little single beds. The staff quarters were unsurprisingly more cramped and the laundry room must have been horrendous when in full swing and rather alarmingly included a piece of machinery called Body Press.

 

 

 

Those Royals really do like to turn themselves out nicely, even on holiday. Impressively there was a garage on the deck, with the Queen’s Rolls Royce inside. The information assured us, in case we were in any doubt, that getting the car on board was quite some task.

Apparently when the vessel came to Edinburgh she gave a final toot from her funnel as she passed the dockyard where she had been built.

In the gift shop we picked up an obligatory fridge magnet, including a Queen one, which had her sitting, with a handbag on her knees, and dangly fabric legs below. Purdey and Steed bought a Britannia shaped whisky. And then panicked about the liquid limit on their flight back – they were only travelling with hand luggage – so frantically tried to find in the information anything which gave a clue about the millilitre content. It was 100ml. They hoped they would be ok as it would be shame to be forced to drink the whisky (and then give your friend and empty bottle, of course).

We took the bus back into town, dropping off Purdey and Steed at Holyrood on the way. Before parting we had another daily tot of whisky as it was past noon and we hadn’t yet had a drink that day. We got off shortly afterwards and had a drink at a nearby pub before finding a fantastic whisky shop complete with a Scottie dog in the window, alive and wandering about. If ever there was a need to break into song about the price of dogs in windows, now was very much the time. It was a fabulous shop and we purchased a bottle or two, including a bottle of Islay whisky drawn straight from the cask and labelled in front of us.

 

 

Finding a tourist shop we bought a toy haggis and went to the station to find a train that would take us over the Forth Bridge. We decided to travel there and back in first class to avoid having to mingle with the riff raff. And it was a good opportunity to take Haggis on his first rail trip - which rather nicely went past the Scottish rugby ground of Murrayfield. You could feel the little chap swell with pride. This boded well for dinner, but also implied he was unfamiliar with the quality of recent Scottish rugby.

 

 

 

This worked well for the trip out but a little oik insisted in sitting in the first class compartment on the way back. Arriving back at the station, we went back up to the Royal Mile via Fleshwater Wynd, passing a couple of interesting pubs on the way. The wind was not quite as smelly at the tour guide last night had implied – indicating that the proximity to the station and pubs did rather make a urinal out of it.

Husband and I had procured some fringe festival tickets many weeks earlier. Getting into the spirit of things, Purdey had been looking through the guide and booked up some additional tickets for various shows. So we met up and joined the queue for collections. We got chatting to a girl in front of us who had performed in previous years.

Now with the rest of the day free we found a semi underground bar down one of the wynds which whiled away the time until dinner. We foraged for an Italian restaurant that evening, followed by a whisky bar. In the process we stumbled accidentally upon a particularly good comedy/music performance at the back of the bar. A talented guitarist would say ‘it’s expensive to go and see Coldplay. I’m going to save you some money’ before playing some of their tunes, but a little mocked about. Then he said ‘it’s expensive to see the Pope, I’m going to save you some money’ before playing Working 9 to 5, but singing Poping 9 to 5.

Husband and I were due to see Ed Byrne that evening, followed immediately by a show on the other side of town. This was due to a timing blunder on my part. I had thought that Ed Byrne was on half an hour earlier – which would have given ample time for the two. I realised at the last minute that one ended as the other began. So we left Purdey and Steed in the bar and set of down to Cowgate. The city was alive. Annoying talented kids were providing entertainment on the street and from every bar you could hear live music. The atmosphere was fantastic and we saw places advertising food served until 3am, which was potentially useful information. Ed Byrne was on top form, and we left as soon as he had finished, if not a fraction before, to get our taxi over to the Titty Bar Ha Ha performance. The performance was in a small, cosy circus tent in George Square which had been ‘carpeted’ with pretend grass, peppered with fairy lights in the trees and liberally spread with food and drink outlets. As well as performance venues. The show was set in the 1940’s and when the Edinburgh Castle tattoo fireworks went off one of the characters glared across the tent and murmured ‘fucking Germans’.

One of the audience participation games they played was ‘spit or swallow’ which involved putting an alka seltzer in your mouth, having a large drink of water and seeing how long you could go before spitting out the foaming froth.

This show was followed by a midnight burlesque performance, in the same tent. I was impressed with the confidence of the girls, doing their striptease inches away from the front row of the audience.

The following morning we got up late and after breakfast we took the bus into town. There was intermittent torrential rain and sunshine. This was a day which would need to be timed carefully. Princes Street was gridlocked with buses and there was an above average police presence. Apparently there was due to be a march or some other protest.

We drove past the dark stoned Scott monument then jettisoned the bus journey, and walked down to Cowgate to the Brew Dog bar. This was a good place to spend the morning. As they proudly advertised, they didn’t have Stella or football. What’s more, to avoid graffiti in the toilets, the whole lot was painted in blackboard paint and chalk was provided. I wrote ‘The English were here’.

We drank a number of interestingly named beers – 5am Saint, Dead Pony Club, Punk IPA and one called ABV14. Which was silly. It was 10.2% and tasted like strong syrup. They also had fake lager – for the people not quite man enough for real ales.

 

 

Their glasses were fun and they sold them on the premises – so we bought some.

When I went back to the ladies, someone has crossed out English from my note. So I re-wrote it. Those cheeky Scots people!

Now very drunk, and having only eaten a plate of cold meats, we headed to the food till 3am venue and had hog roast and haggis. Now replete, we went to a bar which was kitted out like a barn, hay bales and wheelbarrows all round to sit on as well as a herd of plastic cows. We perched on the bales and settled down to listen to the band, relaxed and drinking. It was a marvellous way to while away the hours – and avoid the rain. On one side of the room was a row or makeshift toilets, with wooden doors and string handles.

 

 

Husband and I had tickets for a jazz event so at the allotted time we set off for the jazz bar – passing Greyfriars Bobby on the way.

 

 

 

The jazz player was excellent and had an amusing story to accompany each of his songs. He even made his own guitars, and one was made using a radio – which still worked.

 

 

We wandered back to the centre of town to find Purdey and Steed. On the way we passed Tron Kirk from which the sounds of guitar were emanating, so we wandered in and watched a young lad playing and singing. It was incredible to see so many young people performing, and very skilfully so.

Needing to go back to the apartment to ready ourselves for the tattoo we caught a bus back. The police were already starting to close the roads in advance of the evening show.

Back at the apartment we ordered up curry for dinner and then, warm and waterproof, headed back to the castle. A huge queue was already forming and we were unsure why. All seats were allocated, and the gate wasn’t even due to open for an hour. So why was anyone bothering to stand out in the cold now? All the pubs along the route in the to the castle were packed. We managed to squeeze into one but the staff frequently made us aware how much we were in the way. It was still daylight, and we saw the fireworks that marked the end of the earlier show.

 

 

We waited until the queue started to move before walking down the hill in order to get round the barriers and walk all the way back up the hill again to the entrance. Alex Salmond started proceedings, to a ripple of boo’s. Perhaps the Scots weren’t so bad after all. Or maybe there were a lot of English in the audience.

 

 

While parts of the show were clever (very small children riding around preciously on mini motorbikes) or amusing (guards dancing gangnam style) it wasn’t very military and wasn’t what I had been expecting.

 

 

 

There was more focus on dancing and singing than on military bands. The New Zealand marching girls were particularly well trained, marching backwards, criss crossing each other without ever looking behind or stumbling.

 

 

 

One set of performers had 5 chaps playing large bass drums – which became 3 when the brakes on one drum seemed to fail and it rolled gently away from him, into the audience.

 

 

They also did clever things with the lights, making patterns on the front of the castle.

 

 

 

It did get chilly, but never rained. And once the fireworks were over we wandered back along Rose Street and across Dean Bridge. Behind us a big moon shone brightly over the castle. It was our last evening in Edinburgh.

 

 

The following morning Husband and I set off first. Purdey and Steed were getting a bus back to the airport as they didn’t need to be there first thing.

Initially we deliberately set off in the wrong direction to go over the Forth road bridge and see the rail bridge close up.

 

 

 

We parked up and wandered around underneath the girders, hearing a train rattle across above us which echoed around the quite fishing village.

 

 

Then we set off for the long drive back. I noticed that all the sheep in the fields had been shorn. Presumably giving up their wool to the Edinburgh Wool Mill.

Before leaving Scotland we dropped in to Gretna Green for fun. There was a pretty village church there, so it was unclear why anyone had got married at the blacksmiths. Perhaps one wasn’t meant to ask these sort of questions. And now I’d gone and applied logic to the situation.

 

 

The Last House in Scotland Marriage Rooms were a bit Las Vegas. By which, yes, I do mean cheap and tacky.

As we headed south we saw on the opposite carriageway tractors heading north, with the inevitable queue of traffic behind them. Feeling smug we pressed on, only becoming slightly deterred by the sign boards over the motorway displaying an upside down car. That had the appearance of a nasty accident.

In the event, the run home was uneventful. And finally, we finished off all the snacks that we had bought on the way up.