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 – after 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 walked 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 too late that I
was in full view of a man peeking out if his tent in the field opposite.
The bridge was 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 from our lunchtime forage, 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 our previous year’s front line visits in France.
In the shadow of
the memorial was the rugby ground, where rugby 7’s was invented allegedly. It was homely
and simple, one stand, then hoardings round the other three 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. The restaurant was almost full. They also served haggis pizza. We had a Scottish version of
Eton Mess (which did not include haggis), followed by cheese which did include 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 them 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, Steed and Purdey, having seen 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 made our way to 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.
After a quick cup of tea
we went 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 around 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 it provided 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 there was a grey stoned and morbid war memorial. From the parapet 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, 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
770. 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 wynds 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 the guide wanted to demonstrate public punishment from days of yore and asked for two male 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 in an attempt 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 dodgy end of town, typical of any dockland area. It was very
rough and ready with a tattoo parlour amusingly named Twit Twoo. Husband said it
should be called Twit Twat instead. We arrived at the yacht and the entrance
was on the second floor. You could take steps to get to the first floor, where
the department stores were, but then had to take a lift to get to the second as
there weren’t any obvious signs for 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; 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 whales' 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 one of the Queen, 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. Husband and I 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.
Our riff raff avoidance plan worked well
for the trip out but a little oik insisted insisted on 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 wynd 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. Annoyingly 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 a range of performance tent.
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 – consequently 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. Once 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 was 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 return 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 out 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 were on wheels, and 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 Husband and I 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
quiet 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 made our way 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.
