This little light...

At the top of Marchmont Road, on the corner of Thirlestane Road, there is a door. This door. The room to which it leads has no windows, no carpet and apparently not heating. You can encounter some of the worlds rudest people in there. You can part with your heard earned [?] student loan in there. The room can be so crowded you feel like dropping everything and running. But it is probably one of the most cherished rooms in Marchmont.

Scotmid. I wonder how many emergency cooking ingredients are bought here every day? How many cheap bottles of wine are purchased in preparation for a night out? How many souls have been soothed to see it's light spilling onto the pavement in their hour of need? How many boxes of biscuits escape as gifts for impromptu dinner parties? How many students have come here to purchase some Haribo or Fox's Golden Crunch to spur them on in their studies? Does the smile of the cashier perhaps brighten someone's worst day at university yet? Does the bad service put people in bad moods for the rest of their evening? Has there ever been a chance meeting of two strangers, fighting over the last pot of humous, that lead to a wonderful romance? Alternatively, how many friendships have been potentially ruined by arguments over money owed, vodka chosen, things forgotten?

For somewhere so small and seemingly insignificant, this shop sees us live our whole lives in its four walls.