Edinburgh

I spent the weekend in Edinburgh recently.  The main feature was to take part in a sponsored walk to raise funds for the wonderful Maggie's Centre in the city.  It provides support for people who have encountered cancer and also for their families.  It has helped one of my oldest and dearest friends and her family, so that was reason enough for me to take part.   The "Culture Crawl" started at the magnificent edifice that is Fettes College and from there it all went downhill.  Not literally, of course; Edinburgh is quite a hilly city, which I had conveniently forgotten when I signed up for the event more than six months ago.    There were cultural events along the route (which we only found out when we turned up to take part) - including Gilbert & Sullivan at Parliament Hall, an organ recital at St Stephen's church in Stockbridge, storytelling at the... yes, you guessed it, the Scottish Storytelling Centre on the High Street and singing in a hidden-away chapel at the back of George Square.   Added to that lovely mix were some light refreshments, including paella (perfect walking fuel), homebakes and tea and even a few alcoholic beverages to spur us on.  A good time was had by all.  And I raised over £200 for Maggie's.  Many thanks to all who donated.  

It was good to be back in Edinburgh, where I grew up.  I travelled by bus or walked, while there, which made a pleasant change from driving all the time.  Nowadays, there are CCTV screens on the buses, so the driver can keep an eye on what the passengers are up to.  It means the passengers can keep an eye on each other too.  Quite disconcerting, really.  I remember when the buses had platforms at the back.  There were conductors who took your fare, then furiously wound their ticket machine, slung round their neck, to produce your ticket.  They were printed on proper paper, those tickets, not the flimsy stuff you get now.  Now, as I discovered from my friend, you can have an app on your mobile phone, so your ticket appears on the screen and you show it to the bus driver.  I remember the days when you could smoke upstairs on the bus.  I liked sitting upstairs, but didn't like the smoke (I still don't).  My Mum could tell if I'd been upstairs on the bus by the smell of my blazer when I got home.   I spent a lot of my childhood on the bus in Edinburgh.  I had to take two buses to primary school; my big sister valiantly waited with me at the bus stop on George IV Bridge to make sure I got on the right one.  By then she was at senior school and that was the end of her bus journey.  There was a lollipop man at the end of my bus journey, to assist my crossing of a busy road.  Then there was a walk along a leafy street with big sandstone houses on either side before reaching the sanctuary of school.   Once I reached primary 6, I too only took one bus to school.  The two-bus journey involved an overlapping stretch where I had the choice of where to change buses.  I don't recall how I decided where to do this, but I do remember leaving my violin behind on more than one occasion and my poor mother having to go somewhere to collect it.  I'm ashamed to say I don't actually know where she had to go; the bus depot, I assume.  I still have that violin, and still play it, so thank you Mum, for mopping up my mess!