Inadvertent Intruders in Hazy Capitals,

I’ve been reminded twice, by DJ Tom Robinson, exactly how great a record Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen) by Baz Luhrmann is. I like any sayings, songs or the like that are even vaguely profound. There was thankfully little need for sunscreen today, although I was wearing some, due to the haar. I decided the best thing to do today would be to leave Dullsville behind before I was bogged down in any of the mishaps.

I journeyed to Embra via the train from Kirkcaldy railway station. The station car park is finally being extended, it’s long overdue. I had complained a number of times to Scotrail and my MSPs about this, my point was that by the time people drove around looking for non-existent parking spaces, they’d miss the train and then it’d be, in fact, quicker to drive to the city. On the train, I was reminded of Me and the Major by Belle & Sebastian, because this old man kept staring at me; I was listening quietly to City & Eastern Songs by Jeffrey and Jack Lewis on my iPod, in all but appearance, and perhaps smell, I’m the model train commuter.

The city doesn’t yet have that special festival buzz about yet but there’s an atmosphere that’s just ready to explode. I walked down the Royal Mile to the Parliament; I was going to go walking up Arthur’s Seat, I had never done so before and it doesn’t look too difficult to a rookie. But as I ambled across the Parliament building forecourt, I was flagged down by what I thought was a lost tourist but as she approached I saw she was wielding a microphone and a tape recorder.

‘Don’t look so terrified. I’ve just come from the BBC and I’m wondering if you could be of assistance’
‘Right.’
‘I’m going to ask you what seems like a very strange question for a programme and I want you to answer.’
‘Well, I suppose so.’
‘I’m going to ask you and it’s going to be really odd, “Which rock or pop band or artist do you think should have a musical or an opera made about their career?” Okay? Are you going to take part?’
”Does it have to be a long comment?”

After recording something to be edited out of a show on Radio Scotland, perhaps the Radio Café, I started roaming around Arthur’s Seat, I just picked the first path and started striding up the slope, at such a pace I was passing most of the other walkers. It was quite terrifying after a while; the drop at the edge of the path was drastically steep. I passed a family of four, making sure I was farthest from the cliff, just in time to see the mother gaze admiringly out onto the city, with the castle, the parliament and untold monuments and treasures below, and utter profoundly, “Look, kids! There’s Homebase.” Soon this path was no longer going upwards, that was of no use to me, I wanted to go to the top of something. I then found a path and it turned out I was climbing up Salisbury Crags, the front lip of the volcanic plug that’s referred to as Arthur’s Seat; they’re not as high as the more southern summit. I made sure to stay away from the edge of the cliffs on at the top of the crags, in case the wind, which was gusting in quite strongly – and bringing the haar with it –, should blow me to my death. I descended in a fashion that was not unlike skiing owing to my trainers which are nearly untenable. In hindsight, I couldn’t have climbed the other summit in them.

I have always wanted to visit the Scottish Parliament building, I think it’s brilliant, and I had read on the website that admission was free. I went in hoping to perhaps wander about a little, but I found that the only privilege that comes with free admission is the right to roam around the foyer and buy tickets (costing £3.50) for the guided tour. I came to this conclusion after trying the available doors and trying to wander down all the corridors only to be blocked off by barriers, I was told off by security guards twice. I also picked up on the fact that no one was manning the elevator, I went up to the second floor (I wondered if perhaps they were encouraging the tourists to take the lifts) and began to look around but soon another guard came bounding round the corner, ‘Get back in the lift and press “G”.’ I gave up, having only managed to peek into one committee room, I was quite disappointed, but I decided to come back if I had time and succumb to the guided tour, although I wondered if I should, they had probably marked me down as a terrorist, they had already cautioned me about the “knife” I was carrying (a small blade on a keying).

I walked to the west end of the city centre to the Dean Gallery and their latest exhibition: Van Gogh and Britain: Pioneer Collectors. Vincent Van Gogh is a bit of a hero of mine - he’s everyone’s hero really. I don’t know much about art, I suppose every piece from a child’s scrawling on the walls to a £135 million portrait is subject to personal taste, I can’t justify any more beard-stroking today. I have a natural talent for art, just like golf, and my name was added to the official list of “Gifted Pupils” by the art department, but, like golf, it was something I never followed up. I never studied art as a Standard Grade or Higher, but we learned about Van Gogh in second year, and were taught to imitate his style for a project. My favourite painting on show today was A Wheatfield, with Cypresses, it’s amazing and I could have quite happily stared at the swirls in it until the exhibition closes in September. The stories of the British art dealers are the supposed theme of this exhibition but really the details of various sales and exchanges (receipts, diaries and newspaper articles are on display) are quite boring and insignificant, the artwork is the fulcrum of this exhibition.

I did try to look around the other paintings in the gallery but the stuff by Picasso and Dali looked like creepy rubbish to me. I walked back to the Parliament and surrendered £3.50 to take part on the guided tour. The group was mainly made up of a Suffolk history of art club, I though this would make the tour more interesting, but they weren’t the characters that I thought they’d be (one member of their party threw a tantrum and refused to do the tour, and was seen to be doing what I had done earlier). The tour lasted 45 minutes, it was not as extensive as I’d hoped; we weren’t shown the MSPs’ quarters or the debating chamber (closed for repair) or lead around the gardens and courtyards. I still love the building and it was good to see a little more of it, the funniest part was the Scottish Socialist Party parliamentary office, with provocative slogans that were anti-Bush, anti-Blair, anti-war, anti-nuclear, anti-CIA and pretty much anything else. As I left the building I passed a man, wearing a Celtic strip, 'F%#*ing eyesore, that is.'

I bought a sandwich and sat in Princess Street Gardens until the time for Kirkcaldy train.

As Dave Gorman or Danny Wallace pointed out in the book Are You Dave Gorman?, there must be people who commute by back and forth from Edinburgh to Fife using every day who never tire of the scenery zipping past the window of the train as it hugs the shoreline and hurtles past the seals basking on the rocks with the landmarks of the city just about visible (close enough to capture the imagination, but too distant to identify) in the distance on the other side of the firth - it’s true, but a man did keep kicking me all the way home.

I did not demand a Belle & Sebastian musical.