I had forgotten why I don’t go to Scotland’s capital in August until I unwarily ventured there today for a meeting… I’m sure the city is filled with wondrous cultural things during the festival* but as I was reminded today, it’s not enough to outweigh the sheer mass of shuffling zombified crowds (and the sad thing is, the festival doesn’t even start until Friday so God knows what it will be like then), many carrying elaborate balloon sculptures which, I can tell you, do not mix well with folded Bromptons being carried by harried travellers who are keen to catch their train back to the relative sanity of Bigtownshire (no balloon sculptures were harmed in the making of this blog, by the way; I was in a rush but I’m not a monster. I suspect I’ll have an entertaining new selection of Brompton bruises in the morning from trying to keep it out of the way though).
Fortunately, there is one sacrosanct space in Edinburgh dedicated almost entirely to the convenience of the harried cyclist. The ramp out of Waverley station was initially out of bounds to everyone except authorised vehicles, with cyclists forced to wheel their bikes along an insanely narrow walkway with pedestrians and their wheeled suitcases. Then someone saw sense (it turns out that there are a few benefits to having a Dutch company running your railways) and allowed bikes on the roadway alongside the authorised vehicles. They did have to give it an over-the-top painted bike lane but if that’s what it takes to enable you to sail in and out of the station without tangling with the festival crowds, then so be it. And the best thing is, as there are hardly any authorised vehicles you get it all to your ..
It’s still better than mixing with the zombie hordes.
* And the not-so-wondrous: in my misguided youth took a show up there where we often played to audiences who outnumbered the cast,** and would have been a fantastic commercial success*** had the venue not absconded with the takings.
** And no, it wasn’t a one-woman show.
*** Broken even.