Dusk turned to pitch black

After chores and a bit of the old bimbo-ing, including a pop down to Granton to see the Helgoland race yachts, I managed a call into this Hidden Door arts and events space place. You've got to like it; all grime and installations and earnest beardies. And I was interviewed a couple of times by eager arts student types with video cameras. As you'd expect, being a celeb. And the sun shone. And Beers were on tap. As usual, I suspect I like the idea of the whole thing more than the actualité. Which I've written in French to be a pretentious knob. Here's a bit of film - y'see, under the 'Here + Now' banner. All good except that the reminiscences were all from some painfully dull woman who ran a cake shop in Canonmills. Joyce. Aye, her. Joyce's cake shop. Aye, it's a great place, she intoned. There's the water o leith. An the Botanics.
There are indeed. It would have been more interesting hearing about her cakes. Life's too short for the second rate. That's why you go to organised stuff. Someone smart curates it, so you don't have to drown in a sea of mundanity. Or mundanité, even.