Walking along the prom in Portobello is a joy, especially when I was doing so with my dad a couple of days ago. There is a kind of faded splendor about it, sitting as it does next door to Leith which is attached to Edinburgh. And it has these amazing gothic houses. This one is facing the sea in the Firth of Forth. I could see myself nestled in the study at the top of the central part of this house. Isn't it great? I could huddle, hap up in a blanket, sitting in candle light and listening to a reading of The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner - ooh its been a long time since I read that book. Or I could just get a telescope and watch the ships as they come and go up the Forth, imagining what they are carrying, Dominican bananas, exotic silks and spices from the east, Israeli apples and Palestinian oranges that will sit at peace in the same bowl, negotiating the benefits of being a mixed fruit salad made up of different cultures. And sometimes I would close the door, sit in the turret and play guitar and think about places and lives and lovers that have touched me on the journey; and friends would come drop in from all over the world to play along, or to write or talk in the salon de thé which would provide some sweet early grey and Echelfechin cake or Abernethy biscuits and later maybe an Oban malt as dusk settled on the sea; but oh its dark here, early on a Sunday morning, I have work to do, writing to read and a gym to get to (you can't exercise the mind alone). I love the quiet of the morning, the stillness and the space to just to think and write this oasis, its only a ten minute blog and the world will start turning again for real, but for now, happy Sunday, I hope you are in your own turret... now where is my guitar... this song came on as I was writing and its mellow enough to maintain the mood for sitting looking out of turret windows:
