The Eeriness of Rose Street

Edinburgh's Rose Street, just after 11.00am on Sunday. Usually this place would be bustling with shoppers, diners, tourists et al. I am reliably informed there are a couple of bookies there along with the odd pub or two...Instead, it looked an eerie place, symbolic of a lockdown that has now gone on for more than three months.

Tomorrow, in Scotland, roadside shops re-open, subject to appropriate social distancing measures being in place. Indeed, on adjacent Princes Street, many stores had staff working today preparing for re-opening tomorrow and several shops had two metre distancing signs marked on the pavement outside.

Tomorrow will mark another step towards something approaching normality in Scotland. Today, in central Edinburgh at least, it was the calm before the storm.

The Confession

quotoesgram.com 

In 1965, an elderly Italian man who lived on the outskirts of Rimini, Italy, went to the local church for confession. When the priest slid open the panel in the confessional, the man began:

"Father .. During World War II, a beautiful Jewish woman from our neighbourhood knocked urgently on my door and asked me to hide her from the Nazis. So I hid her in my attic."

The priest replied: "That was a wonderful thing you did, and you have no need to confess that."

"But there is more to tell, father... She started to repay me with sexual favours. This happened several times a week, and sometimes twice on Sundays.'

The priest said, "That was a long time ago and by doing what you did, you placed the two of you in great danger, but two people under those circumstances can easily succumb to the weakness of the flesh. However, if you are truly sorry for your actions, you are indeed forgiven."

"Thank you, father. That's a great load off my mind. I do have one more question."

"And what is that?" asked the priest.




















"Should I tell her the war is over......?"

Text Speak

No money was given to Hannah during the taking of this photograph. Well, perhaps just a small sum...

I saw something on t'internet today about an animation course open to children aged 13-18 in Scotland and thought this would be right up grand-daughter Hannah's street. She is fast approaching those dreaded teenage years. I sent her the link and, unusually for the elder two of my grandchildren, she replied within minutes.

'I saw this and thought of you' I said in my message, trying to be a dutiful Papa.

'That's what I'm doing in art rn' Hannah replied.

Art RN? I pondered for some time about what this was. Is this what they call art and design at school these days? Eventually the penny dropped, admittedly from a long height.

RN is text speak for 'right now'.

I have a horrible feeling that, before long, having communication with Jack and Hannah may need the help of an interpreter.