Dunbar discoveries

We spent the day at Dunbar exploring the rock pools. LadySp33d holidayed here with her parents and siblings when she was little several years in a row, staying with friends who lived on Marine Road. We parked up outside the very same house, friends since moved on to Sheffield, and walked the same path across the green and down the steep steps to the martian beach below.

Lady Sp33d was emotionally relieved that the place hasn't changed at all. Even the building at the end of Marine Road had it's wooden bits painted the very same dark reddish colour.

LittleA absolutely loved it, getting totally absorbed in the hermit-crab finding and starfish spotting. It was like witnessing a carbon-copy repeat of what went on 30 years ago. We had lunch on one of the lumps of rock, sheltered from the wind. We tried desperately to find anemones but couldn't, tried to work out where the open air baths used to be (since removed, although remnants of bricks and steps carved in the rocks still exist) and then climbed the steep steps back up mid-afternoon when the tide started coming in and we walked the edge-top path into the main street past the rather ace public toilets and into a coffee shop that actually sold a decent cup of coffee for a change and had a very friendly girl serving with a genuine friendly smile (she made littleA an 'extra special' strawberry milkshake with cream on top).

After we finished the coffees and a gentle sit-down of fifteen or so minutes I stood up and found I could barely move. The point of exhaustion kicked in, and I was suddenly aware of the fact I've run 2 half marathons and a 12 mile training run in-between within the past two weeks. We walked down to the harbour and littleA played on the new-looking playpark, but my legs gave up the ghost and we went back 'home' to the flat in Portobello. I slept the entire way back, waking when we drove through Joppa.

That evening before tea I headed out for a pint with my father-in-law, opting to avoid the Galleon (we were tipped off by an all-day-breakfast place down the road to not go in there for love or money) and thought better of trying 'The Three Monkeys' as it reminded us of a proper rough-as-arse pub in Warrington. The 'Portobello Bar' appeared to be the best of the three from the outside, so we went in and ordered a pint of McEwans Something and took our first sip before being joined by an old boy who had most of his front teeth missing and started ranting about Thatcher and the english whilst waving his fists every few minutes in over-excited gesture-talk as his toothless wife danced hyperactively to an Elvis Presley song on the jukebox. We played our Welsh cards immediately, my father in law muttering a word or two in Welsh and saying he loved the Scottish, then spent the rest of our pints having our hands shaken and our shoulders patted for being 'A Pair of Celts' (think that's what he said, it involved a heartfelt thwack of his chest so I'm assuming so) and 'Proud Welshmen' whilst having renditions of 'It's not Unusual' belted down our earholes. It was funny and, thanks to the welsh cards, totally harmless, but we struggled to understand most of what he was saying as he sounded a lot like Rab C Nesbitt at the end of a lock-in. I definitely heard him say 'Tom Jones' and 'Miners' and 'Anthracite' and 'Joe Calzaghe' though. We mostly nodded and smiled and left swiftly after the pint was gone (nice pint btw) to the sound of half the bar trying to sing the Welsh National Anthem without actually knowing the words (which is no different to half the people in Wales to be fair).

***
This afternoon I've been walking like the tin man. I For a good idea of what that looks like watch THAT....