retiredmartin

July 2025. Edinburgh.

Halfway through the Big Day Out In Edinburgh.

It’s only just gone 2pm and I’ve already clocked up 22,000 steps and 3 GBG ticks (and half of Mrs RM badly chosen lunch).

This is the stage in a long day where you think “Hmm, I could just about catch a train to Perth and get two extra ticks done“, before sense prevails.

Mrs RM is giving me progress on her own progress, up Calton Hill and then down past the graffiti,

to Parliament and Holyrood, where they want TWENTY-FIVE quid.

So I skip that, and decide I’ll try and do all the sights of Edinburgh that don’t charge admission, like the Brew Dog on Cowgate with bloke dressed as kangaroo,

the sprawling and rather dry Museum of Scotland,

and the grave of a 19th century dog.

Folk travel from Kobe and Kansas and Kenilworth to see Greyfriars Bobby’s resting place, just as they visit Brussels to see a little boy having a wee.

And then they pop in the Nicholson pub bearing Bobby’s name, and stare into space as if they’ve never been in a British pub before.

And none of them will order the Bass*, or even the Tennents, and I decide I’m not risking it either.

Sorry, Quinno.

*Just looked at Untappd. Loads of check-ins for the Stewart once lines were cleaned (why not clean them before the pub opens ?) and none for Bass. I despair.