JULY 8th, Monday, 6:21 PM

I did not perish heading up to Arthur’s Seat. Hiking is not my thing, and by that I mean I have never felt compelled to do it. But the views! Yes, they’re very nice, I’m sure. Breathtaking! If you’ve any left.

I can certainly understand why people do it, but I’d rather go somewhere and look at paintings or such. Of course that’s a false choice here. Had already done that. And it was a lovely day.

But it is hard to describe the trepidation I felt upon beholding this task:

You see the protrusion on the right? Computer, enhance:

At least it’s not a hard incline. So up we went, up the gravel, up the stone steps where they could be found.

Worth it.

After Arthur’s Arse we went to the new Scottish Parliament, a building of surpassing ugliness. The critics, it is said, are approving. The public, less so. I wonder who’s right!

The critics are wrong, of course. It’s one of those high-concept buildings that starts to make sense when you read the placard. Oh it’s a tree I see. A tree on the ground. A flat tree on the ground. And the buildings are the leaves, growing out of . . . The ground. It is covered with symbols whose meaning is not immediately clear, and you have to consult the descriptions inside. For example: why is there an ill-proportioned hammer all over the facade . . .

Ah, this explains it.

		Ah, this explains it.
		And I call big stonking heaps of BS on all that, because I know that painting. In fact I knew it before I saw it yesterday in the museum in Edinburgh. IT DOESN'T EVEN LOOK LIKE IT

Inside it’s literally brutalism, with exposed raw concrete. Once there was a time when the doors of the civic buildings were festooned with the symbols of the culture, the visual language, all presented in its best finery to exhalt and uplift and impel you towards our better aspirations.

The door to the visitor’s gallery:

You can hear the angels weep. The designers and politicians will be eager to tell you how this connects with Scottish history, how it's a testament to culture and the political class' committment to the nation in all its glory, but they're either liars or naifs. This is a machine designed to sever the government from its people and history.

Gah.

What might they have used instead? We'll get to taht.

The next stop, after a nice lunch at World’s End - yes, we went back to a place in contravention of all wifely rules, because last night she saw there were mussels on the menu, and we made a reservation that she might have them fresh today - was the Royal Palace at Hollyrood.

The place where Mary Queen of Scots’ Italian secretary was stabbed. I mean, you’re right there, in the room, and you walk up the stairs the conspirators took.

Seems a bit rude for them to change so much to enter the palace, though. It’s not as if they’re hurting. Oh but the staff and upkeep! Yes, but you’re the Royal Family; I think you have some spare cash tucked away in a tin somewhere.

It was a relief to see that cameras were banned. No obligation to take pictures. Just enjoy the old rooms. They were not very old rooms, though. Your definition of old and very old changes after a while here.

A ruined abbey adjoins the palace.

Its rough surfaces suggest it was probably covered with plaster.

TUESDAY, JULY 9

Hotel's wake-up call is a bit over the top:

We were informed later that someone had run his hot shower too long, and the room got too hot, and this tripped the fire alarm. (BITING SIDE OF CHEEK; JUST SHUT UP). Well, we’re up early, so might as well start the day. Instead of breakfast at 8 we’ll have it at seven. It was during eggs and haggis that the wife said “Now that we’re up early we can take a walk around town.”

My carefully constructed morning, my timetable, my edifice of caution and care, had been blown apart. So we took a walk. Unnecessary but getting to the airport at that point would’ve been too early for me, and that’s really saying something. We will end with some nice government buildings . . .

I'll leave you with this.

It does not suggest that Western Civ is a going concern, does it.

The Old Royal High School, also known as New Parliament House, is a 19th-century neoclassical building on Calton Hill in the city of Edinburgh. The building was constructed for the use of the city's Royal High School, and gained its alternative name as a result of a proposal in the 1970s for it to house a devolved Scottish Assembly.

What they could've had instead of that . . . thing we saw. But that's the only negative thing I have to say about this town. Or this trip. It's been a joy.

And now to home.

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