Lothian Buses n Bikes

It’s looking as if The Bible is as prophetic as George Orwell at the moment. This weather would have Noah worried.
 
I watched out the window for the Number 7 bus. Rosemary would look online but I find my method is more reliable.  Lothian Buses are an institution. Far better than the disjointed, overly de-regulated buses you get in most of the U.K.
 
I started using them regularly when at school in the days they weren’t allowed beyond the city boundary. Dad would drive me to Eastfield where the Number 15 would take me to James Gillespies High School in Bruntsfield. This bus was special as it was used by kids from quite a few different schools, my one, St Tam’s the catholic school and George Watsons for the monied classes. I loved when the Mary Erskines girls got on because they were hot and posh. Those of us who smoked, regardless of school, sat up the back on the top deck.
 
That bus was incredibly important in my formative years, especially when it came to going to Buster Broon’s under 18’s disco. I knew and was able to form alliances with people from all over. In 1980’s Edinburgh that was kinda important in avoiding getting a kicking.
 
In Manchester the buses seem to be used by those of a lower socio-economic demographic but Lothian Buses are patronised by everyone. You can always tell people who use them a lot as they always thank the driver. The services are regular, reliable, clean and not too costly. Drivers even receive training on dealing with cyclists safely and it shows as they treat you with respect, quite different to lunatic Manc’ ones.
 
Today I was simply off into town for a coffee and to pick up a few provisions from Real Foods. The single origin Kenyan espresso was a cup of acidic black cherry yoghurt, amazing.
 
 Earlier In the day, I had a long lie, writing an article for the TrainingPeaks website from bed and then ventured out on the bike. The 1st 45 minutes were fine, albeit a little cold. Then it got silly. The heavens opened at the far side of Musselburgh. I decided to head up Carberry Hill to generate some heat. It wasn’t working……. I had initially intended to go as far as Haddington but decided that was stupid. Instead, I turned towards Dalkeith but my hands started to freeze on the descent. My glasses steamed up when I had to stop at traffic lights.
 
At Newington I did my Good Samaritan deed of the day. A blind girl had ‘lost the kerb’ and was wandering in the middle of a busy cross-roads. I asked her to grab my arm, stopped the traffic and then shouted for help  as I was still astride my bike and couldn’t Manoeuvre myself to the kerb easily.
 

By the time I got home, my fingers were agonisingly cold, meaning it was a struggle to get my keys out my back pocket, let alone unlock the door.  The zips on my overshoes were slightly problematic too. Once I’d stripped off, I went under the covers to thaw……my fingers getting more painful before they got better.