One for the Album

The French are in town ahead of tomorrow’s rugby showdown at Murrayfield. You can spot the French very easily. They come in groups of slightly stocky middle aged men with just that whisper of Gallic ‘je ne sais quoi ‘. Perhaps it’s the tie of their scarves or their berets that give them away, because the rugby uniform of navy anorak and jeans is not an immediate clue.
Maybe it’s simply the volume of men of a certain age without wives or female partners stravaiging the down town streets in clusters and holding the little guilt parcels which scream ‘thinking of you ma cherie, even though I’ve left you at home looking after the kids’.

I came upon this piper beside the art galleries who had collected a throng of French, delighted with his astute playing of the Marseillaise. He was actually an unusually good piper who wasn’t scared to play tunes other than Amazing Grace or Highland Cathedral. In fact had I not had other fish to fry I would have been happy to stand and listen to him.
I would not, though, have had a photo taken of me standing beside him- that would have been a step too far, but not for this Frenchman.

It was sunny and quite mild today. Perhaps these Gallic visitors think it’s like this all the time in Edinburgh. The French word for that is ‘égaré!