Leith

I decided to get a bus to Porty and then walk home last night in the hope of getting a few good images. The walk along the beach was nice as the sound of the sea always instils calmness. But the haar was down and there wasn't much to photograph.  

I saw a dead lesser black backed gull and a few oyster catchers, but that was it. There was a wee party going on at the beach at Seafield with some interesting characters there. But I decided not to join them. They were listening to shit happy hardcore, a genre of music that has always made me suspicious. 

Despite a level of gentrification, my walk through Leith reminded me that it is still Leith. "Nice camera man" said a smack head, as he narrowed his eyes. He looked as if he had every bit of life-force sucked out of him by a vampire. "Can a take yer picture" I asked....."Fuck off ya bam" was his response. I refrained from saying "fuck of ya bam, yersel" but got my own back whilst at a safe distance. "Oi neebour" I called. He turned round at which point I pulled my camera to my eye and clicked. It was I 14-24mm lens, so it was an utterly pointless exercise.  It actually scares me how easily I can converse in what Rosemary calls 'my working class voice'. Ha ha.... my Mum would turn in her grave as I would get a clout round the lug whenever I reverted to ma Stoneybank voice from her. 

A short time after, I saw this bit of graffiti of Spud....a name that a few people have called me in the past, especially when I was in top cycling shape i.e. way too thin for my own good and looking like someone from Trainspotting. 

So that was my evening.