We were shamed last week into finally going up north to track down a few more of Polly’s relatives. And so on Tuesday morning we hoped on a bus to Kirkcaldie and soon found ourselves on the north side of the Firth of Forth. Polly’s Aunt actually lives a little way north in Dysart and so we didn’t see much of Kirkcaldie itself, but given it’s claim to fame is linoleum perhaps that’s for the best. We did, however, explore the fortified coastline and had a brief browse of the ruins of Ravenscraig Castle which have, unfortunately, been mostly blocked off now thanks to thoughtless children throwing themselves from the battlements.
The following day we trekked up to St. Andrews to visit her Great Aunt. St. Andrews is lovely and quaint, with, funnily enough, several large central golf courses. Between exploring the ruins of the abbey and the castle we were treated to a lovely (and somewhat large) lunch, and headed back weighing about twice as much as we had.
Thursday rolled around and we rolled down to Edinburgh. We were obviously in favour with some deity as the rain stopped and we were able to browse without fear until about 4pm, when the rain returned with a vengeance. In the meantime we ignored the castle, given they were setting it up for the tattoo, and walked instead down the Royal Mile, before having tea and bouncing across to the New Town and climbing the hill to the Nelson Monument (which was closed for cleaning). Edinburgh is gorgeous, but the Royal Mile has an appalling number of tacky shops selling mock kilts, claymores and general tourist rubbish. Presumably someone buys it. That person should be found and shot. Along with the architect for the Scottish Parliament.
And so we headed back to Glasgow for an exciting Friday of tackling the NHS, Customs and the good people at HSBC. Unfortunately only the NHS worked out, but that’s Britain for you.
