“In Scotland, there is no such thing as bad weather – only the wrong clothes.” Billy Connolly

I rose early and wandered around the corner to the Scotmid Co-op supermarket around the corner. I stocked up on sandwiches and pork pies for the train and ordered coffees and Scotch Pies for breakfast. A Scotch Pie is a wonderful thing. When Scots emigrated to New Zealand those in the south brought their tradition of Scotch Pie and it altered slightly and became Mutton Pie, something I always hunt out when I am in Otago. Having Scotch Pie in Scotland was on my list so finding some here was providential.

Back at the guesthouse we demolished the pies and coffees, packed and caught a cab to the Wetherspoons at Edinburgh Waverly. Called the Booking Office it sits atop the bridge which goes over the station. Finally, the heavens were providing some light precipitation one might call rain. I ordered a very cheap pint of Belhaven 80 Shilling which to be fair tasted very cheap. We waited for our train platform to be announced. Naturally every other train in the north of Great Britain had been allocated a platform but our train to London remained resolutely TBC. We hauled our luggage down the long ramp into the station and found seats in sight of the departure board. Finally, uncomfortably close to departure time a platform number flashed up and we hobbled on with our cases in search of the train.

Twenty minutes later we were flying south through the Scottish countryside and then on into England, back across the bridge amongst bridges in Newcastle , through Yorkshire past York and Leeds and then down through the midlands. We crossed the Trent at one point which of course caused me to look up how close to Burton we were.

Once we were at Kings Cross we headed up to the Fullers Parcel Yard pub where a rather grumpy Polish bartender provided us with a pint and a ½ of ESB while I worked out our route back to Tottenham on the underground.

Then it was back to Mary’s for a home cooked dinner and for me an early night.