You're never lonely with a Fair Isle sweater

This poor wee bloke was moping on some scaffolding-boards at the top of the Lawnmarket. Maybe he was sick of looking at tins of shortbread with ginger hair on the lids in tweeshops. Maybe he was in a huff as his wife was making him wear the marvellous jumper she'd bought him. Maybe the mild gradient was getting to him. How will we ever know?