Street Entertainers

Edinburgh City Centre, a vibrant mix of shops, bars, restaurants and cafes, peppered with museums, galleries, theatres and cinemas, a truly cosmopolitan atmosphere encompassing nationalities and cultures from across the globe. Almost as appealing, is the wonderful array of street entertainers who pop up in Princes Street and the Royal Mile - as well as no end of places in between - to amuse both locals and visitors alike. We pay a fortune to sit in relative comfort and take in the latest play, one of our many rising stars from the world of music, or the latest comedian to find himself a billboard success. But out on the streets a whole host of extremely talented performers can be found, braving the elements for the few pounds we deem acceptable to place in their hats. With only the pavement for a stage and an audience as varied as a box of liquorice allsorts, they are both professional and incredibly entertaining, and much deserving of a moment of our time.

So who can we expect to encounter on our travels around the city centre, who will be giving the very best of all they have to offer in an attempt to prise our hard-earned cash from our wallets and into their pots? Jugglers, fire-eaters, acrobats, clowns and contortionists bring a touch of the circus to the city streets. They are joined by singers, dancers and musicians of every genre, the air often alive to the sound of the guitar, the saxophone, the clarinet .... and on occasions  slightly more curiously bizarre instruments made of anything from bottles to the kitchen sink. Pop, opera, classical, weird, it's all there to be soaked up, enjoyed or spat out, depending on your own particular taste. But it is all incredibly entertaining, a lifestyle envied by many but perhaps sought by few.
Of course this being Scotland, there will inevitably be the strains of the bagpipe emanating from one corner of the city or another. Love them or hate them they are engrained in the life of this nation north of the border. I have to admit to an intense dislike of the bagpipes when I first encountered

Edinburgh life, likening their sound to that of mischievous cats seeking pleasures of the flesh - or should that be fur - after dark. But they are growing on me ..... Those playing them always look so smart in their national costume, even the young children who appear every now and then and handle their instruments like seasoned professionals. And there is definitely something hauntingly romantic about a lone piper playing on the Castle ramparts, echoing across the city as twilight falls. Should you be fortunate enough to visit the fair city of Edinburgh and you come across one of these street entertainers, give them a moment of your time. For many of them this is their life, so share a part of yours with these wonderful folk. You will be richly rewarded. 

 

Sammy the Squirrel

Sometimes you just need to escape reality and let your imagination take over, let the stresses and strains of this life give way to the simplicity of another. So I hear you say, where do you go to let your creative juices flow and your crazy brain take over? I pop along to the Botanic Gardens, take a seat on my favourite bench, and chat to the squirrels. But squirrels can't talk, I hear you reply, no doubt questioning my sanity. Well, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I know different ........ Sammy is no ordinary squirrel. Watching for my arrival, he appears in his tam o'shanter and his knitted tartan scarf, sits on the bench beside me, and chats away nineteen to the dozen. With his bushy grey tail, silvery grey fur with a brown tinge along the middle of his back, and his sometimes not-so-white underparts, Sammy is an appealing little chap, amusingly entertaining, always busying himself with one chore or another, yet always able to pass the time of day, if only briefly on occasions. It is said that squirrels communicate mainly through their tails, which twitch if they are uneasy or suspicious. But not Sammy. He appears to have mastered the English language quite adequately, albeit with a Scottish accent, but he is very shy and can be heard only by those who believe. Eager to chat away about his family, he told me recently about the wonderful Christmas lunch he shared with Mrs Squirrel.  Vegetarian of course, they indulged in fungi stuffed with acorns and hazelnuts, served with a pine cone puree, and followed by a tree bark tart sprinkled with winter flowers. A veritable feast for the squirrels, washed down with a vintage rainwater elderflower wine. Sqirrels are hoarders, and my friend Sammy is certainly no exception. However, burying food to provide for the long winter months, when supplies are scarce, can be a problem. Despite a strong sense of smell, poor Sammy often falls victim to the common cold, an unfortunate consequence of his close contact with the humans that forever invade his habitat, tossing nuts and flashing cameras in his direction. This, coupled with a memory not as sharp as it once was, will at times result in him frantically digging up half the Gardens to locate his own personal storecupboard. Last time we had a chat poor Sammy hardly had time to catch his breath before he was off again in search of moss and feathers to line the nursery. The winter months had taken their toll on his drey, and with the patter of tiny feet due at any time, Mrs Squirrel was eager to have everything spick and span ready for the new arrivals. I must pop back soon to see how it all went, and take some tiny scarves for the babies. With more snow forecast I am sure they will be more than welcome. So do you believe I can talk to the squirrels? I guess only I know for sure, but will keep you all updated with further adventures of Sammy the Squirrel. So watch this space ...........

To Pee or Not to Pee

Relieving oneself in Edinburgh can be as interesting an experience as any other in this fair city. For those much in need of a "comfort break", to give it a politically correct title, many of the local facilities are much as in any other across the country. The variety of colours bedecking the walls are indeed as numerous as the many levels of cleanliness and wide range of bodily aromas that greet those desperate for a quick wee - or a little more!

However, there are a few establishments whose conveniences are somewhat more cultured, and deserve a little more time spent within their walls. Whilst sitting contemplating the job in hand, one can cast one's eyes over a gallery of nostalgic portraits, marvel at the many pairs of eyes gazing down on one's performance, or spend a few moments reading a whole host of newspapers and discoloured sheet music, designed no doubt to both educate and amuse. So where, you may ask, is a convenient (sorry about the pun) place to partake of enough drink to ensure the facilities will be made use of?

 

In the heart of the Old Town is a fascinating venue called The

Cave. Steeped in history, and with an almost gothic feel, these

vaulted rooms are built into the very sub-structure of the South

Bridge itself and still contain the remains of buildings that pre-

date this bridge. An atmosphere of mystery exudes from every

inch of the winding passages, underground corridors, nooks

and crannies that cling to this labyrinth that is The Cave. High

vaulted ceilings, low lighting, dark furniture, and dimly lit

corners offer no view of the outside world. No windows impose

into this hidden land below the streets, a world of creaking stairs

and clammy walls. So it comes as no surprise that this unique venue

has unique toilets. The walls are awash with ageing sheet music,

quaint Victorian advertisements, and portraits of folk long dead.

So pause awhile and enjoy .....

If this whets your appetite for lavatories with a sense of humour,

try those in Morningside's Churchill Theatre. Within this 

attractive and traditional venue for the performing arts, very much

a local theatre in terms of its character and hosting a broad variety

of productions, is Loopy Lorna's. The ideal spot to fill your bladder,

Loopy Lorna's serves up the most amazing afternoon teas, melt-in-

the-mouth scones, soup and sandwich lunches, and get-up-and-go

breakfasts. With teapots stretching as far as the eye can see, the

quirky tea cosies are matched only by the quirkiness of the toilets.

Whether sitting, standing, or washing your hands, a plethera of

rather attractive ladies faces watch over you, pairs of eyes following

you around the room. Although somewhat strange, it is also

strangely comforting to have so many people sharing your private

space. Or is it?     

 

 

Blackford Pond

Morningside is a delightful area to the south-west of Edinburgh, fictional home to the eccentric Miss Jean Brodie, abode to such literary favourites as Ian Rankin and Alexander McCall Smith, and place of residence to 400m gold medallist from the 1924 Olympic Games, Eric Liddell. A somewhat affluent area, with its Victorian villas, countless churches, and many traditional shops, cafes and restaurants, its quaintly named streets lead to a place of absolute peace and tranquility - Blackford Pond.

Blackford Pond is a small artificial pond created during the Victorian era in a glacial hollow. Both locals and visitors alike head for this delightful drop of countryside amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, a place where they can escape the humdrum existence of everyday life and immerse themselves in an hour or so of rural solitude. Benches allow the opportunity to read awhile or just sit in quiet contemplation. The laughter of children enjoying a moment of freedom in the nearby play area barely imposes on this picture of serenity, breaking the silence but for a fleeting second before the stillness of the day reigns once again.

And it is not purely visitors of the human kind that grace Blackford Pond with their presence. Ducks, swans, geese and seagulls waddle, swim and feed on the waters of the pond, disturbing the rippled surface to hunt for some pond-lurking delicacy or grab one of the countless morsels of bread thrown by the eager hands of children. This almost crescent-shaped pond lies against the imposing backdrop of Blackford Hill, an easy climb which offers stunning views of Edinburgh. There is a small birdhouse on the artificial island in the middle of the pond, sometimes overrun with guests, at others home to only a few. Surrounded by trees and shrubs, the lush greenery of the summer months contrasts greatly with the tangle of winter branches stripped bare by the cold and the frost. Yet as the seasons come and go, only the reflections in the water change, mirror images of the months passing are held but briefly before vanishing from sight. Snow, rain, wind and hail play alongside the sun and the moon, the leaves burst forth, flourish, and die, but Blackford Pond remains for all to enjoy.   

 



Krispy Kreme

Now I know I have died and gone to heaven. Krispy Kreme doughnuts have arrived in Scotland and taken up root here in Edinburgh. With traffic chaos and over four hundred customers served in the first hour alone, doughnut mania hit the capital city like a whirlwind, arousing the curiosity of the local population much as an alien landing or the appearance of the Loch Ness monster. The doughnut theatre allows you to witness at first hand the birth of these mouthwatering munchies, the fifteen flavours include original glazed, strawberries and kreme, and chocolate iced with sprinkles.
So, is this sugary fix, this sweet-toothed temptation,
healthy? Almost certainly not. Could they be
classed as a diet danger? Almost definitely. And
can the apple cinnamon be classed as one of my
five a day? Somehow I doubt it. But I have a
feeling Krispy Kreme doughnuts are here to stay.
They do say that a little of what you fancy does
you good. How often you have that "little" I guess is up to you. But I love them. Maybe they
have a hole in the middle cos they slip around your waist without you noticing .... who knows!
But it is something worth contemplating as you sit and enjoy with a hot cuppa and a group of friends. 

Snowdrops

Ever on the look-out for an excuse to celebrate, this canny nation north of the border relishes its festivals. Still in the throes of winter, Scotland is in the midst of its annual Scottish Snowdrop Festival. Some fifty gardens and estates across the country throw open their doors and gates to the public as these first heralds of spring break through the frozen earth and carpet the countryside in open defiance of the final snows of winter. These tiny flowers, pendant flowers fit to grace the regal neck of a princess, bob delicately in the wind, beckoned by the watery winter sunlight. Erupting through the frosted soil, they are so strong yet so fragile, a flower with a determination that belies its size. These almost pearly off-white flowers, reflected in many a springtime wedding gown, contrast with the green leaves that support their slender bodies, blossoming defiant within the steely grip of winter. With little competition from other flowers, they reign supreme, meek yet majestic, bravely showing their heads when others remain firmly closed. Nodding their heads, they acknowledge the waiting bluebells, primroses and daffodils that lie ready to steal their thunder. Signifying the renewal of life that comes with the onset of spring, maybe they should be compared to a box of chocolates, hard on the outside, soft in the middle. So if you find yourself in bonny Scotland as winter grapples with spring, and a brisk walk is needed to blow away the cobwebs
nutured during the long, dark days of December and January, go search out the snowdrops. Acres of woodland are covered with these beautiful flowers. Blair Castle in Perthshire, Cambo House in Fife, and the Dalmeny Estate in South Queensferry are well worth a visit, as are the Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh. So what are you all waiting for ....... the show goes on until the first week in March, so search out your wellies, wrap up warm, and off you go!!

From the depths of rural Dorset, a county synonymous with Thomas Hardy, the Jurassic coast, and the curiously but aptly-named Dorset knobs, a young lady (or should that now be lassie) has been hit by the culture shock that is Edinburgh. The Athens of the North, a city of countless festivals, and as diverse in population as it is in its stunning architecture, every inch of this jewel in the Scottish crown pulsates with a life that both invigorates and yet at times rushes by with an urgency that is alien to one from a country background. Each month seems to bring something new, a story unfolding around those sitting outside the many pavement bars and restaurants, watching people acting out their lives like scenes from the latest costume drama.
Costume would appear more than appropriate at the moment, as the sporting circus that is the Six Nations comes to town. A city that is already bedecked with more flags than the United Nations, fills every inch of available space with the symbolic ritual of adding Italy, France, Wales, Ireland and England to the constantly fluttering saltire. There is something about ruby fans that is both relaxed yet passionate, an atmosphere of camaraderie filling the city streets. The knights of St. George, the shamrocks of Ireland, crazy Frenchmen in their berets, and mad Italians dressed in anything slightly reminiscent of their national colours, combine with beautiful singing from the Welsh valleys, creating a tournament that is second to none. And then there is the Scottish. Kilts of every size and colour emerge from every corner of Edinburgh to descend on the sacred temple that is Murrayfield. Matched only by the variety of kilts is the somewhat bizarre assortment of legs that can be glimpsed betwixt sock and skirt. Honed legs, hairy legs, legs that have seen better days, legs that are beyond redemption yet must take their place amongst the rest - they are all there for the world to see. And white - they are nearly all white. Is this because the chill Scottish winds necessitate their unwrapping purely for weddings and iconic sporting occasions? And do they, in fact, wear anything underneath? One would trust that cold stadium seats would warrant the wearing of at least a wholesome pair of pants, except maybe for the most hardy Scotsman. Unless, of course, they prove me wrong. One intrepid bar even provides Six Nations burgers, cooked with a hint of the national cuisine from each competing country. And with a wee dram or two before or after, there is plenty to warm the very cockles of the heart, even on the coldest day. Do I like rugby? Yes, I do. Did I allow myself a smug smile when Scotland fell to the might of England? I would be lying if I said no. But after all, it is only a game ...........