hairy

It is Tom’s birthday. We both have the afternoon off so I took him out for lunch to Kitchin. What a treat! (for me as well as him). The food was fantastic, as it always is there, and it is the kind of superbly prepared, seasonal, Scottish fare Tom really likes. In fact, the whole lunch experience was so damn fine in every way that I really wanted to take a photo or two. But the lighting in the restaurant is rather sepulchral, and I did not fancy disrupting the subdued and tasteful atmos by whipping out my gorillapod, attempting to adjust the white balance, and getting the camera into macro-cuisine mode. . . So then we went to the Whisky Society for coffee (and whiskies). We sat by the fire, and admired their beautifully decorated tree. Here, again, were birthday photo opportunities a-plenty, but things are Really Very Civilised at the whiskysoc, and cameras are not permitted in the members rooms.

But I wasn’t coming home without a photograph. And so, I here present a picture of a slightly sinister, and quite suggestive sign Tom spotted through a frosted window in Leith on our way home. And no, it wasn’t that kind of frosted Leith window. . . well, it didn’t seem to be anyway . . . I’m really not sure where or who the referents of this sign are, nor do I have any sense of its context or meaning. Probably best not to investigate any further. . .

PS I am very much enjoying reading your children’s literature suggestions. Thankyou!