It was a pretty vile day but we've still got the Marcothon mentality. If you don't want to go out then just go out for a wee bit. I had to go to the bank to put money in and P had to go to the bank to take money out and the bank's half a mile up the road and just near to the steps up to Calton Hill, so it seemed to make sense to go for a run in the wind and the rain up there.
Somehow or other we got into a discussion of street names and both of us thought that there are more street names now than there used to be. We thought it was likely that Visit Scotland had a hand in this. What used to be nondescript little lanes suddenly have grand names referring to historic personages. I've remembered what set all this off. The steps on the right up Calton Hill are now suddenly called "The Hume Walk".
We went up the right steps ( yeah yeah - the Hume Walk) and up to the top and then dropped down onto Waterloo Place, stopping only momentarily to spy in the windows of the civil servants to see if we could see our friend Richard, and then ran back round, via Royal Terrace to the bottom of the steps again. This time we took the steps on the left. As usual I was watching my feet and Peter was gazing around - so he never saw the three used Johnnies and the shot-gun cartridge on the steps. That must have been some night. Calton Hill has the reputation of being a pick up place for stranger sex, so I shouldn't have really been surprised. Good to see they're being sensible about it. Maybe the council could provide a special bin.
Anyway this led to a discussion of what the steps on the left should be called. Condom corridor? Or, for Orcadians only, Pillskin place. Rubber row? Feel free to comment.
So we knocked out 3 and a bit miles and then went and got our shopping in Scotmid. I'm not dwelling on the shotgun cartridge.
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