In Padstein

On your average Thursday lunchtime I would normally be found wandering the area around Holyrood Road looking for a blip. The office where I work with no static is but a minute from the Scotsman offices; the underground car parks, concrete monstrosities and watch menders of that neighbourhood are my usual subjects.

But not this Thursday of all Thursdays... with the poncefest in full flight I was...elsewhere.

So what would any self-respecting blipper do in such circumstances do? Find something as middle class and poncy as possible to do in solidarity with the Edinburgh brothers of course.

And, therefore, at 1pm BST I was up to my eyeballs in cast-off prawn heads, braying middle-classily in Rick Stein's cafe.

Chin-chin one and all.