The Golden Rule

The golden rule is that there are no golden rules.

A day with a client at the bottom of Lothian Road. Everything goes well. Apart from the vegetarian haggis for lunch in the cafeteria, which is disappointing. An understatement.

I’ve got an hour or so before the BCS committee meeting, so I ring Dave on the off-chance. He’s on his way to Magda’s, which is pretty much exactly where I am standing. It’s good to see them both - and I get a cup of tea.

Magda often finds discarded clothes at work. Today’s find is a clutch of brightly coloured Andrew Christian underpants. They all include posing pouches. One of them has no bottom. I leave haunted by the prospect of Dave modelling them. Disturbing.

Later, I collect my car and head to Watson Crescent to meet Angus after his aikido. I’m early, so spend a happy half hour in the Golden Rule with a pint from Scalpay. The place feels unchanged by the decades, which is somehow reassuring.

Angus emerges out of the dusk and we head to Pataka for a late, but very pleasant, dinner. We order starters and some side dishes, and end up stuffed, despite sharing a rice and omitting any bread. Mmmm

A quick trip to Dalkeith Road, where I exchange Angus for a bag of frozen mice, and then it’s back to the Borders.