It's the first of October in Scotland and it's not supposed to be like this. Blue sky, sunshine, warmth, an invitation to take in some sights. So we got a bus to Edinburgh's pretension to be a seaside resort - Portobello. A name that may oversell the charms of the locale - just because we're twinned with Nice doesn't make this the Promenade des Anglais - but which has a special place in the city's affections. If you wanted to go to the beach you went to Porty, and that sentiment links to my own past.
This was the place where my granny and auntie would take me to go to 'the shows'. AKA the penny arcade, the slot machines, the one armed bandits (none of this effete push-button nonsense back then, it was proper lever pulling....). And everything cost a penny. (That's 1d of course.) The building remains, still has the same function, but I suspect they'd charge me a lot more than even 1p to have a go.
But whilst a lot of Porty remains the same, much has changed too. The beach is cleaner for a start (helped greatly by EU quality standards, just sayin') and the choice of eating places has improved greatly on the main drag. The most dramatic differences are at the western end, once dominated by the power station, and the neighbouring outdoor, and unheated, swimming pool, both long gone and replaced by some unremarkable housing. Progress we call it.
Today the prom was busy. Dogs, bikes, kids, joggers and strollers like ourselves. Not so many on the beach though. For some it was even possible to imagine yourself all alone.
Walking along we were tempted by the offers on the blackboard of this old van.
As former 2CV owners we have a soft spot for those corrugated H Vans, evocative of rural France. Indeed it was good to see a similar vehicle in Blefast just a couple of weeks ago.
My eye was caught by the 'spicy veg haggis sausage roll', a nomenclature so weighted down with internal contradictions that it begged to be tasted. But first a seat in the sun in the Community Garden, another feature that definitely had no place in the early sixties, then back to find.... a sticker saying they'd run out of my comestible of choice. Such are life's minor disappointments.
So we wandered up the slope, seeking an alternative, and on the way passed another link to our Ugly Duckling days, but with a whiff more elegance to it's bearing. Maigret comes to Porty.
My cravings were satisfied by a veggie haggis and fried egg roll (Porty isn't about sophistication), and my memory stirred by a window where this painting took me back to the icy salt water and the wave machine that the pool was famed for.
There was even some amusement to be had for the naming of this shop, less naff than most puns of it's type.
And even waiting for the bus jogged the grey cells back over a few decades. My dad worked out of Portobello,Police Station for several years, and it remains the most attractive looking cop shop I've seen. Well, outside at least.
An afternoon that was enjoyable in itself, but enhanced by the connections to and memories of the past.
I'm getting old, ain't I?
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