The fishmonger is working a seven day week. This is his peak season with the coastal villages bursting at the seams with big spending Edinburgh second home owners. We're fourth in line behind a sixty something couple who've arrived in an impractically low BMW coupe , a grumpy man in a sleek silver Mercedes and four 'bubbly' Fulham women who are big on air kissing. The women take forever to order and seem unsure of what ingredients are required for a lobster risotto. 'The Font' mouths the word 'lobster' but thankfully says so sotto voce. We buy lemon sole, salmon tail, dressed crab and halibut. All the lobster are taken by the bubbly foursome. Our drive back is spent wondering how they're going to cope with cooking them.
Into town for the opening of Starbucks. A chance to sit outside and watch the world go by. There isn't much of the world going by or doing anything at all this early on a Sunday so we're soon finished.
Opposite our Starbucks table a stall with Slushies machines churns crushed ice - endlessly. Have the ice crushing machines been left on all night ? Has the owner switched them on early in the hope/knowledge/belief that there will be a burst of demand at seven am for ice cold artificially flavoured drinks ? Guess we'll never know.
The market might be bringing a touch of Coney Island to one end of town but at the other the university remains deserted. As we get in the car four large coaches arrive and disgorge a mass of Chinese tourists outside the cathedral. Their guides will walk them through the quad, make a left to the Old Course, then retrace their steps ( via the public lavatories and the Martyrs Memorial ) back to the coach park. In forty five minutes they'll be on their way to the Highlands - or what passes for the Highlands in an eight hour 'See Scotland - lunch and gratuities included ' tour. The Chinese tourists seem quite happy with their limited exposure to the 'exoticism' of this cold and distant land.
Back at home we shall soon settle down on the shore with blankets, our books ( despite its age the John Updike picked up earlier in the week is proving to be border line shocking ) , a punnet of the farmers just picked strawberries and two slices of the village treasurers Malteser cake that she has just dropped off as a thank you for providing wine for the Hogmanay celebrations. After the usual tasting of a mouthful and 'The Fonts ' ritual mouthing of the word 'delicious' Angus will end up having both slices.
4 comments:
Fresh picked local strawberries and a slice of home-baked malteser cake sounds to me like an excellent combination!
Cheers, Gail (who enjoyed a highly productive session gathering succulent and larger than usual blaeberries on a hill just outside Aberdeen yesterday).
Yes to freshly picked strawberries, but I'll pass on the Malteser cake, even though it's home baked, as I could never understand the popularity of the sweets. I thought they were horrible!
The words Sweden and gang violence, linked together so often these days, come as a nasty shock to someone who spent some time living there - admittedly many years ago. It was such a peaceful country.
What do people gain from a whistle stop tour of a country? It's just a box-ticking exercise, really.
Your planned outing at the shore beneath the splendid cloud strewn sky sounds idyllic.
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