I’m a nowhere man in nowhere land making nowhere plans

IHAVE been to the city and have some important observations. The city was Edinburgh, sometimes described as the capital of Scotland, and a place for which I maintain a residual fondness. Well, parts of it. Trinity mainly. Morningside, or more accurately the Grange, I guess. Also Blackford, my own nearby suburb of yore. Leith out of tribal loyalty and an atavistic feeling of belonging (even if I grew up just outside the border).

My first observation relates to transport. Leith is bedlam, because of the trams extension. Every other road is closed. You never know where you’re going to end up. Also, across the city, unless the roads are narrow, and pedestrians might pop out, everybody still does 30 in the 20mph zones.

Even in Leith, swanky black cars swish along. So many. We’ve few, if any, of these where I live. On the pavement, more rarely on the roads, nutters on electric scooters scatter all in their wake. The first one I saw breenged along relentlessly blowing his horn at pedestrians. If I’d been more alert, I’d have made a citizen’s arrest.

Honestly, you thought cyclists were prats, but this is a whole new level. Oddly enough, too, these are lower class people – neds, indeed – rather than the self-righteous, posing bourgeoise who dominate bicycling. After a few minutes’ research, I’m not even clear if such vehicles are legal. At any rate, as with bicycles, they should be heavily taxed to discourage their use.

Pub news: the draught beer was rubbish everywhere. This was a major disappointment. I’d been eagerly anticipating a proper pint for ages. But the truth is beer is better out of bottles and cans now than it is on tap.

I don’t know the reason. Lack of throughput? The inexperience of young bar staff who probably drink shots or inhale peculiar powders rather than drink wholesome ale?

Pubs also expect you to have meals now. Typical Earthlings. Not so long ago, they’d castigate you for wanting food when you were supposed to be there just to drink whisky and beer. Now they castigate you if you want to drink when you’re supposed to have food. More money in it, I guess.

We were lucky to find a spit and sawdust joint that didn’t go in for such effete nonsense, though the grumpy barman was still Lockdown Deranged, telling folk they couldn’t do this or stand there. You even had to sign in and provide your mobile number, like something out of the Middle Ages.

Another disgraceful aspect of city life is people – well, men, the dumbo sex or gender, whatever it is – wearing shorts on Baltic

February days. What is this, readers? Correct: it is Vanity of the Limbs. Again, a tax on bare legs would soon make them think again.

I was also appalled to see feral youth, and plenty of them, still wearing baggy grey tracksuit trousers, despite showing little inclination towards athleticism. Some

wore black hoodies, giving them the aspect of wicked medieval peasants.

On the plus side, the baseball cap may be on the way out. Many years ago, in the town of Dumfries, I was the only person not wearing such millinery.

There are still addled personnel hanging around unmissably in groups at the Fit o’ the Walk. Who sells them their poor wee dogs? They should be prosecuted.

Seeking respite on my suburban hill, I found that most people encountered in such tame but pleasant nature, mainly dog walkers, do not say hello, even when you shout greetings at them and wave your arms in their faces. Sad.

But I loved my week in the city. You wouldn’t think it for someone so antisocial, but I’ve tons of good friends, male and female, and I was out with different folk every day. You see them more when you move away.

And so I returned to my Beorn-like existence far from the hurly and also, arguably, the burly. My garden birds were glad to see me. I was happy to see them and my home amid its beautiful environs.

Also, I like Gaels. But I was reminded after my trip that, city or island, Leith or Morningside, I don’t belong anywhere. Never have. Never will.

Back to the future

REPORTEDLY, the newest generation are rejecting the nightmare of wokeness and reverting to the party world of the Noughties, with devil-may-care Oasis star Liam Gallagher as role model.

The new (old), radical (retro) behaviour even extends to breakfast, with avocado on toast replaced by bacon on white bread. Beards are also out, which this column finds a pity. It has been nice in recent years to be down with the kids, at least in terms of face fungus.

Although, on the hairless face of it, the new trend seems regressive, perhaps such progressive backwardness could eventually see a return to the 1950s. Instead of taking Liam Gallagher as their role model, they’d find inspiration in the tweedsuited respectability of Sir Harold Macmillan and Sir Anthony Eden.

Macmillan spent his spare time translating Latin texts, which young people will find far more fulfilling and enjoyable than parties, stimulants and coital interludes.