Sacrilege

Poor old David Hume, he of the 18th Century Scottish Enlightenment.
He has much to put up with sitting as he does on his cold plinth outside the High Court, wearing only a toga and no shoes.
Not only does he suffer the indignity of having his big toe rubbed by tourists who rub toes and dogs’ noses while wishing wishes, he has graffiti scrawled on his tablet and now a wag has placed a no waiting sign on his head. It’s a poor copy of the iconic coned head of the Duke of Wellington outside the Glasgow Modern Art Gallery and it will not be allowed to remain.

I ventured into the Craft Fair at St John’s Church this morning to see my step niece who has a stall there. The Fair was much smaller than on pre Covid years and what struck me was the lack of foreign tongues. Anyone who passed the stall seemed to be a staycationer.

The rain threatened but came to nothing and how lovely to walk around town without a jacket and still feel warm.

PS now that I’ve written that sentence, I look out of the window and a shower has just blown across the Meadows