Great Scots

It had (somehow) been seven years since I'd last been up to Edinburgh, until last weekend - when Auld Reekie reaffirmed its status as one of my favourite cities.

You've surely got to love anywhere with a pub called the Jingling Geordie (I felt instantly at home, not least because it's a proper old man's boozer largely untouched by time or interior design creatives); a record shop which is zealous in its promotion of local talent and in which you can pick up a copy of Magnetic Fields' triple album 69 Love Songs for a beyond-bargainous £7.99; a restaurant with friendly staff and tasty inexpensive grub which plays 'Feed The Tree' by Belly while you eat and which includes you in the celebrations for its second birthday; and a pizza shop named after Che Guevara (wasn't that the honour he was really fighting for?).

I experienced a personal culinary epiphany as well - not something I ever thought would happen in Scotland - courtesy of Snax Cafe. I hereby salute the country that gave the world square sausage. Cylindrical sausage is SO over. But why stop there? Next it'll be trapezoid bacon and hexagonal scrambled egg, hopefully, both of which will of course taste better than their irregular-shaped varieties. I should add that the haggis was also fantastic, and I returned to England a vocal convert to both.

Finally, though, an open question: why, on the Scottish £20 note, does Robert the Bruce have an expression like a glum toddler with trembling lower lip as if on the verge of blubbing? Hardly the most dignified image of a national hero...