Dear Folks of the Underling Walkways,

On Friday, I took a ‘sunshine day’; I awarded myself the day off because of the weather. It was earned. I headed off to the city of Embra, the city to which I feel connected but never attached to. The emperor required new clothes. The queen was also in town causing a nuisance. The monarchy ought to test the nation, if they were really wanted, they’d be able to sail past without altercations on our roads, instead, they sequester polis and demand road cordons.

Anyway, one end of Princes Street was out of bounds and I was forced to furnish myself with rags down the other. Maybe I’m feeling old because all my usual stops seem to have ended their bid to attract me; I don’t like big logos, I don’t like slogans, I don’t like bright colours, I don’t like chequered bits. I’m too old to be one of those skinny kids.

I am skinny though, and I’m nearly a kid, so I buy the skinniest non-skinny things, it’s the transitional plan, but I’d still rather rave to anyone about Fleet Foxes rather than Black Kids or MGMT. Nearly everyone has blogged about Fleet Foxes, for harmonies and rhythms, they’re the first point of contact of the current crop, they’re just lovely. The best advice I would offer is to burn a CD with both the self-titled album and the Sun Giant EP on the same disc. White Winter Hymnal, Ragged Wood and Mykonos are the obvious points to begin from.

After the purchase of another pair of the same jeans/trousers I already have (this may be a sign of settling into a lifestyle of duffing), a pair of trousers reduced to £7 (duffing by bargain spotting), a pair of jeans that I'm not so sure about and then some of those cheap coloured t-shirts that are found in all the stores - they're the ones that are dubiously stitched and difficult to iron - I returned to my chair, my book and to my garden sunshine.

"Would passengers who wish to leave the train at this stop, please make their way towards a door."