When I went up to the Edinburgh Festival two weekends ago for one of the largest arts/comedy/theatre festivals ever, I stayed with my old schoolchum in Leith. Which involved walking up a hill for 30 mins to all the action at the Royal Mile, seeing some stuff, then walking down the hill for 30 mins to catch up with my mate. Then walking back up the hill with his supernaturally gorgeous friends (imagine a Scottish version of Miranda from Sex And The City), getting drunk till 3-4am, and then somehow stumbling back down the hill afterwards, bloody knackered. Suppose it builds up your calf muscles though.
Euphemism is going up to Edinburgh this weekend to go see her damn lucky boyfriend’s play. She’s not even hit 25 yet, but she’s staying at The Scotsman, quite possibly one of the poshest places in Edinburgh. It’s only a minutes’ walk to the Royal Mile, and it even has its own cinema. I am sooooo jealous. And annoyed. Why am I earning a crust and staying at work till 8pm?