The Iron Dog

I had a trip through to Glasgow today to see daughter # 4 for a quick coffee and a debriefing on how the two exhibitions she's organising are taking a toll on her stress levels, and then a blipmeet with Gillipaw.

We stravaged round the Modern Art gallery and the Printmakers gallery before having a lovely lunch in the Trans-Europe Cafe in the Trongate.

There was much to catch up on over a varied feast of salad and poached eggs, and with tongues wagging for an hour, we missed two heavy showers of rain.

Arriving back in Edinburgh was akin to falling into Dante's inferno.
The station was choc-a-bloc with droves of tourists pulling cases behind them making a passage through them nearly impossible

And then trying to walk home to the Dower House in the heat, through a sea of humanity and fringe performers spilling out over the pavements and roads, turned my day from pleasant to nightmarish.

I should have had a placard to hold aloft saying "I live here and am trying to get home. Please let me pass unmolested".
There is a penalty to living in Edinburgh town centre during the Fringe Festival.


His Lordship on the other hand was in a cheery mood having gone by car to the Biggar hills, thus only had to navigate his way through some sheep, and they know their place.

Gents, the iron dog, patiently poses for Gillipaw outside the Sharmanka Kinetic Theatre in King Street.