Another week. Hungin oot the window.
Avoiding Arthur's Seat because Covids.
Saturday comes around and Peter announces he wants to run 17 miles. Hmmm, okay. We're both tired so the coffee pot goes on twice. For a while everything is marvelous. I see that in the shadow of my bike, miraculously, the bike has a rider! I take a photograph! I point it out to Peter. He sees it too and gets his camera!
Wow!
I'm in charge of the route. It's necessary to think out of the box at the moment, because everything inside the box is full of Covids. The A70. There won't be many people out for a scenic stroll along the pavements of the A70.
So off we go, first of all taking a good look around the centre of town. Peter took some good photos of that but I only had my weenie camera so I didn't. I held back and took pictures later on, more to tell the story.
We headed out along Dalry Road, dipping into Dalry Cemetery and then North Merchiston Cemetery further on. Pierre was in pursuit of les papillons. There was only the odd white. I don't know if they were large, small or green veined. We had some socially distanced relations with a fat spaniel, a very vocal robin, and a small rotund gentleman with a carefully groomed beard. Well Peter was taking a picture of the robin in the tree, and the chap said "nice picture" as he passed. "I think we're being told off" I quipped, referring to the vociferous robin, and the man laughed appreciatively. I gave myself a pat on the back for my deep appreciation of nature and understanding that the robin, far from its jovial Christmas Card reputation, is actually only into fucking and fighting.
I had already had some to and fro with the chubby spaniel as it did that dog thing where it comes near you but doesn't admit it has seen you. It was panting hard having heaved its plump little body up the hill in a hurry, so I made comical panting noises back at it. Then I saw the owner and stopped.
By the time we left the graveyard I felt partied out to be honest.
As we headed along the A70, Peter pointed out that we were passing the home of renowned Trig Pointer JH. I thought it was only right to have a bit of a point in homage.
The team got grumpier along the way. Peter likes to use my tip-top planning skills but then rebels a bit at the inflexibility of these excellent plans. He persuaded me to go off piste a bit and actually run past the house of another friend - not recorded here. For the social distancing daleks out there, I emphasise that I mean we literally "ran past the house". Quite soon however I could see my plans being stretched and pulled all out of shape and I returned to my desired direction. There was protest from the other one. My lockdown chum.
Then going along another road, Peter remarked that this was the road where Richard, Christina and Ben live, and then as if by magic, they appeared on the other side of the road!
From Fairmilehead we turned back down into the centre of town. Someone grumbled about how we weren't going to make up the distance and were we going to be doing laps of Arthur's Seat? I patiently explained that he had no idea what he was talking about.
I agree. Cockit All.
I was thinking about marketing a "choose your own street performer" virtual festival. Too lazy to show you what I mean though. Use your imagination.
One last stop up at the Castle and we made our way home, having run just a little more than 17 miles.
I'm off for another 7 now.
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