Plans

I haven't been stood up in years.  Actually, not since the very early 1990s as I recall.  But I was stood up today.

Brett's pal Andy was to meet me at one o'clock in Edinburgh city centre, on Princes Street, right in front of the Scott Monument, over the road from Jenners.  I waited for half an hour, called him, sent him a text.  Nothing.  No response.  No show.

And the weather.  According to Carol Kirkwood, it would rain all day until three o'clock this afternoon and then dry up.  As it happens, it was dry until three o'clock this afternoon.  At which point, when I was alighting the bus for a ten minute walk up the road to my house, the heavens opened.

All the clothes I was wearing are now in the washing machine.  No umbrella on this earth could have kept me dry.

I'm depressed.

The day, so far, has gone really badly.  We were contacted this morning by the proprietor of a hotel in Co Kerry.  Cutting a long story short, the lady had booked us in for one night instead of the three we'd requested back in March.  The morning then consisted of a frantic search to find accommodation for Ian, the dogs and I for two nights at short notice at the height of the Irish holiday season.

Not an easy task, but nothing insurmountable either.  We're now staying with someone whom Ian describes as a fag hag and mad about Border Collies.

So all is well.  Ish.

Bournemouth

Bourne Free.  Memories of Pride...

Limbo

I found this passport style photograph of my sister and I whilst in Bournemouth.

I'm back in Edinburgh now, a week early.  The only real reason for my premature return being Ian's inability to get time off from work.

Friday will soon come around.  We're off to Ireland.

I was to meet up with one of Brett's work colleagues this week.  However, that looks increasingly unlikely.  I've emailed him and called the mobile number I have for him but am yet to get a response.

670

I've taken six hundred and seventy photographs while I've been in England. I can't possibly keep them all.

Bingo

I won forty quid at the bingo today!

Pride 2

See if you can spot me after clicking here, here or here. Or even here.

Pride

I attended Gay Pride on Saturday. It was fun; lots of drag queens and cute boys dressed as sailors - but not much else.

I wonder what we've got to march about these days.

I'm sure there's something.

It was strange listening to comments from non-friends of Dorothy along the way...

"I think they're a bunch of homos."

"Which church do you represent?"

"Fancy, in front of the children."

"What?"

The best part of the day was the drag cabaret in the band stand in the gardens. The worst part was being there alone.

I got there by bus. The driver was Polish. Not sure why now, but I became quite thoughtful on the bus. I think, actually, I was thinking about Hilter. Gays. Poles.

Horribly, 1930s Germany is as real and pertinent to today as it ever was.

Naked

Naked. Nudism. Nudist beach.

Yes, I sat on the sand in the altogether. No photographs were taken.

Ian came down to Bournemouth on a flying visit. As did my brother, his wife and child. Noise. Noise I cannot stand.

And Mum was in a dreadful mood. If looks could kill, we'd all be dead.