19 April 2018
18 April 2018
... is not where I expected to end up today, but there I was, just me and a man I had never met before walking on a long, narrow and empty stone pier heading out into the Firth of Forth; oh, and two ladies who preferred not to risk the slippy stones, and another man, wearing dark glasses on a gloomy day, who eventually appeared, said nothing, but took photos of us all, then left. Strange? A little. Still, we survived the unexpected experience of this less-visited shore compared to the south side. Tomorrow is another day, if we reach it.
I had ten minutes to pass before a meeting, and soon discovered that I was passing it in the company of what is left of John Napier (not much, physically, I'm sure, but still a great deal in legacy), and Henry Dewar (chemists remember him) and Henry Raeburn (painter) and Thomas de Quincey (writer and opium addict) and many more notables whom I never knew were there. "Aw deid noo," as we Scots may say, somewhat dismissively, perhaps, was what ran through my mind as I noticed the time and began rushing to what was supposedly important, but suddenly seemed less so. I was a little late for my meeting, which I duly blamed on logarithmic decay, only to be met with bemused glances by people who thought they had significant things to say.