On the buses

We didn't plan it this way but we spent a fair bit of time on buses today. S has been doing this all week, though not on purpose. He just seems to hop on a bus that seems to be going in the right direction, only the bus driver hasn't changed the sign or hasn't told him that yes, he is going to Canonmills, but he's taking the hour and a half scenic route. Oh dear. Consequently he's spent more time on buses than he thought he would and seeing places in Edinburgh that he never expected to see.
This morning Jack and I went for a ride on one of those very, very touristy double decker buses that you see in places like Edinburgh and London. The ones that S studiously avoids. In our defence we did go on the vintage one with a 'live guide' which is preferable to a dead one I suppose (haha..eh). I thought it would be a good way to spend some time seeing the city and I've been walking so far every day that I'm exhausted. I think you could start an exercise programme called the push that damn pram up a hill (or seven) in Edinburgh plan. catchy eh?
I was told that I had to fold up the pram because it would get very busy on the bus. Jack and I went to the top level and chose a seat right at the front. We met our live guide and it was at this time I realised that Jack had done a huge smelly poo and he was cranky. I had timed the tour so that it would be Jack's nap time, in the hope that he would fall asleep. Two more passengers, from Norway and as it transpires Ian Rankin or should I say Rebus fans, joined us on the top deck and that was it. We set off with Jack with a smelly bum (I know that's horrible but you try changing a baby on the top deck of a moving double decker bus with an audience and an uncooperative child), a tour guide with a microphone next to us and Jack starting to scream on and off for the next twenty minutes till he fell asleep. It started to absolutely pour and I was thankful that we were under a canopy till the water all gushed off the roof and swooshed to he front of the bus where we were sitting so I had to sit holding Jack with my legs in the air. The guide was good, but I have to say that his accent was quite strong. sometimes he would say something and I'd just smile and nod because I had no idea what he was talking about or should I say aboot.
I saw some good stuff and found out some info. Apparently Edinburgh is called the Rome of the north because it is built on seven hills like Roma. But then it's also called the Athens of Scotland because it has a lot of columns. Hmmm. I saw the place where Sean Connery modelled for art students before his movie career took off and saw where Sean stays when he's in town and heard the guide do a Sean impression. I think that was his parlour trick. He's probably been doing that impression since Thunderball came out. I saw a statue (and pub) for Blackfriars Bobby who was a wee puppy (not on the rug bobby!) who loyally sat by his owner's grave for twelve years. I hope he was nicer than Billy the dog who has a statue at Balmoral beach. Apparently he used to bite children.I also saw the palace of Holy Rood Castle, which is where HRH Cabbage stays when she's in town. It's been one of those days; reading that book about the Queen and then everywhere I go it's Queen this and HRH that. Close to the castle are the Salisbury crags which are the remains of an extinct volcano. You can walk up to the top but I think I might pass on that one. Apparently it gets so windy up there that people get blown off the side.
The guide also told us about the lovely little money spinner a few hundred years ago where people would rob graves then sell the bodies to the medical colleges for anatomy lessons. Apparently two fellows or rather blaggards called Burke and Hart decided that grave digging was for mugs and decided to start bumping people off instead to expedite the whole process. Unfortunately for them they killed a prostitute and half the medical profession recognised her on the slab and the jig was up. One of them ended up 'taking part' in an anatomy lesson and his skeleton is still there at the medical college to this day.
So it was a funny tour. I didn't take any photos though because I was either restraining Jack or holding him as he slept. Rather inhibits the camera taking opportunities I'd say. We scooted on back to the apartment (Jack woke up and he was not happy) as S had a half day and we were off to see the Royal Yacht Britannia (do you see what I mean about those royals?) and we had to catch the bus there.

Phone Home

Jack's phone obsession seems to grow each day. Whether he's using a real phone or a substitute he engages in long and very entertaining chats (complete with fake laughter and hand gestures). I filmed him today, though of course because the camera was on him he wasn't as uninhibited as he would be normally, but you'll get the idea.
Children are extraordinary mimics as I've learnt so many times. I caught Jack tearing off squares of toilet paper, scrunching them up and throwing them in the toilet today. Luckily the roll was nearly out.

Sandy Update

I found these podcasts of Sandy reading from the 44 Scotland Street books on the Scotsman website and thought people might be interested. I haven't listened to them but am fairly sure they will contain his trademark giggle.
Hope that works.
I also found out that Sandy wears 'crushed strawberry' corduroy trousers (like Mathew) and apparently there is a couple in New Zealand that pretend that they are Precious Ramostwe and Mr JLB Matekoni (from the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series). Not sure how that works but I'd love to be a fly on the wall. I hope she's a woman of traditional build.
http://living.scotsman.com/alexandermccallsmith/McCall-Smith-comes-to-scotsmancom.2781510.jp

National Gallery of Scotland

Jack and I got a bit of culture today. Actually first we indulged in a spot of retail therapy. Keeping in mind that any purchases must be small or disposable due to luggage space (or a lack thereof). We went to Waterstones (Why oh why do I love those bookstores so much?) and purchased some books. This was due a) to Edinburgh Library refusing to let me join (harumph!) and
b) I'd just finished reading an Elizabeth Jolley novel that I found rather annoying. I bought some new books and Jack fell asleep (it's been a tiring week) so I sat and read till he woke up. It was raining outside but then this is Scotland so there's usually some sort of precipitation happening. I have this urge to buy one of the 44 Scotland Street books but can't really justify this as I have them all at home. I've even thought about going to the dark side and buying an Ian Rankin, but have so far resisted. I'll add the new books to the reading list but I will say that I started reading the Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett and it is very good. I can just imagine HRH Cabbage borrowing books from a mobile library. And it really captures the joy of reading great books.
After Jack woke up we headed across the road to the National Gallery. A great collection, lots of lifts for prams (unlike the national gallery in London) and the guards are very nice, though they have to wear these tartan trousers that look scratchy.
The picture above (the skating reverend) is there as well as some very lovely impressionist and post impressionist works. Also a section on Scottish art that was fascinating. I think that next I'll have to see the National Portrait gallery.
By this stage Jack was getting restive so we headed to the little park next to the gallery. Such a deceptively innocent patch of green - who knew what Jack could get up to. He repeatedly climbed these really steep grassy slopes then tried to slide down but was surprised when this didn't work. He tried to hijack a soccer game (picked up the ball) and once more he found some muddy puddles. Sigh. He got really dirty and wet and it's surprising how quickly he can achieve this. There are also these huge gulls here. They sound like a cat being strangled (which is very disturbing when you are not expecting it) and they like to hang around and stare at you. As you can see Jack isn't sure about the gulls and likes to remain on the lookout.

Violetas from Rebeca

When we were leaving the manor, Rebeca gave us some sweets for the train trip, but I think they are too pretty to eat. They are called Violeta and are a speciality of Madrid and taste like Violets.Apparently the dreadful food continues at the manor and Rebeca says that she has reached her saturation point with potatoes. Understandably so.

Mr Blonde

Not sure what's going on with Jack but he seems to have come over all Reservoir Dogs. I keep finding ears in the strangest places....

44 Scotland Street

Those that know me know of my obsession for all things 'Sandy'. Alexander McCall Smith that is (though my Mum telling him I was a stalker was out of order). And my favourite series that he has written is of course 44 Scotland Street; so you can imagine how chuffed I am to be in Edinburgh. I even reread the first book in the series as a kind of refresher.
For those not familiar with this series I will explain. When Sandy was in America he was invited to a dinner with Amy Tan (as you do). At this dinner was Armistead Maupin, who wrote the wonderful Tales of the City series of books as a newspaper serial set in San Francisco. On his return Sandy lamented that no such series existed in a British paper and the Scotsman challenged him to do it. As it was published daily the chapters are short and something always happens. It's based around a building in Edinburgh (the 44 Scotland Street of the title) and its tenants and their friends and acquaintances. It's funny and charming. There are a host of great characters but undoubtedly my favourite is Bertie, long suffering gifted child, speaker of Italian, player of the saxophone, lamenter that he has to wear pink dungarees and sleep in a pink bedroom (to challenge gender stereotypes) when all he wants to do is wear jeans and play rugby. And he quite likes trains. Poor Bertie. Unfortunately for him his mother has him on the fast track to a brilliant but miserable future, Unbearable woman!
So of course as we drove to our apartment on our very first day I had my eyes peeled for all things related to the book. I was excited to be driving down Dundas Street and saw Cumberland Street (but not the Cumberland bar where Angus Lordie, artist and poet, takes his dog Cyril for a pint). I walked past it today.
The next day whenever S asked me what I'd like to do I said go to Scotland Street but he refused. My mother suggested that such obstreperousness stems from jealousy and who can blame him, after all I did invite Sandy to stay with us at Old Junee when I met him. Really I don't know what happens when I meet favourite authors, my brain turns to mush and I say the most embarrassing things or nothing at all. There was nothing untoward in the invitation. Sandy had mentioned wanting a place to write in Australia for awhile, though I think he was thinking more of somewhere splendid by the water.
On Sunday as we walked and walked around Edinburgh I had a feeling that we were close to Scotland Street. Really close. The night before I'd worried that maybe the whole street was fictional, but after consulting a map managed to locate it. And I was right. We must have walked within a hundred metres of it so many times that day.
On Monday S went to work so I was determined to go there. I consulted a map and walked in the direction I thought it should be. I made a few turns and just when I had decided I was definitely in the wrong place. I looked up and there was the sign. Ah...success. And then I looked at the numbers...41...42...43. And that was it. No 44. Oh well. A bit like 221b Baker Street I guess.I still walked up Scotland Street, which is very nice, though it was rubbish day when I took the photos so that adds a bit gritty Ian Rankin like realism to the scene. I saw the street where Angus Lordie lives and I think I saw Cyril his dog, though I didn't get close enough to check for gold teeth. I used to worry about Angus being a starving artist but now I've seen his digs I'm sure he's doing fine.When I was reading the books I used to wonder about the description for Bruce's hair - 'en brosse'. But now that I'm here I keep seeing Bruce-like specimens whose hair could only be described in this way. And have I seen Bertie? Poor wee Bertie? No, but I'm pretty sure I saw his classmate Tofu today.
Tomorrow we're going to Valvona & Crolla for some pan forte (Bertie's favourite).