An Extraordinarily Long Hangover

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2nd and 3rd January 2006
Edinburgh, Scotland.

Suspicions of having acquired a cold were confirmed as much of today was spent in the same cotton-headed, aching fog of yesterday, for surely no hangover ever lasted this long, and the sniffling has been increasing by the hour. I had planned on spending the two days following Hogmanay in a variety of activities - ice skating, walking again along Arthur's Seat, finally visiting the inside of the castle regardless of jaded reviews, catching a day train down to Gretna Green, and so forth - but have been dismayingly lacking the energy or initiative to follow through. My only two achievements, as such, were to ride the ferris wheel on Princes St and to keep a meeting with an old friend-stroke-mentor, Scotsman, and fellow traveler from Cairns.

He was depressingly chipper and unnaffected by any lingering effects of the New Year, and soon the pleasure of seeing him - aw, home... - and the contagiousness of his joie de vivre had me happily drinking and trotting beside him from one old haunt to another. It was great to see an insider's view of the city, and to absorb some insight into how it once was. We walked the Royal Mile, and in doing so I remembered my beloved dream house near the bottom of the hill, which I had not seen in so very very long, and dragged him down to approve of it. Even in the dark, it was picturesque, and that old kick of possessiveness flooded me. I can't even express exactly why, but someday, that house, in this, one of the top five most expensive real estate areas in the world, will be mine.

We said goodbye soon thereafter, for he had a morning plane and I had a 7am train to Godalming, and work, the next morning.

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