It seems that a near-hurricane blew into Nova Scotia shortly after we flew out.  Here, on the other hand, we are gloveless, hatless, barely with need of jackets.

While Fred slept to what he terms a decent hour, Bob and I took a brief walk along some back streets of Glasgow’s West End this morning.  We wound up getting to the basement level of Kelvin Stevens Church, on one road, before finding its main door a storey–and a road–up (rather like Chicago’s layered streets).  All three of us–but not Bob’s relatively new hat–were on the half ten train to Edinburgh, where we got checked into our room before noon.

The city is as crowded as midtown Manhattan:  wall to wall people churning at intersections and automobile traffic at a creep. Since our trips here before this one have been during the summer months, I hadn’t ever walked along Princes street in full on dark until this afternoon.  That, the Christmas hysteria, and the increased number of small children made passage rather dicey: I was never sure if my next step would cut off someone short or  be cut off by someone who didn’t see well in the dark.

We seem to be virtually alone in our lodging.  Even the owner is away, ahving gone, we were told, to the States.  But no sooner had we arrived than we’d been signed up for Christmas dinner. Let no grass grow underfoot….


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: