An exhibition of the Scottish Colourists seemed a thin excuse to go to Edinburgh for a few days, but I didn’t need much persuading.
A bus to Peterborough, a hop on a train and we were there ready for an excellent Italian meal and a random bar round the corner from the hotel, which turned out to be a classic Edinburgh- style pub with live music and great beer.
Next morning it was time to admire the Scottish Colourists, and I did, though I was most impressed by a portrait by John Singer Sargent, one of their influences, perhaps because I feel a connection as he was born 100 years before me to the day.
Holyrood Scottish Parliament. Picture: James Mackenzie
A benefit of returning to a city is not needing to visit the major attractions that one has seen in the past, allowing more time to explore the less well-known venues that appear as you wander around.
For us this included a tapestry workshop, the King’s Gallery at Holyrood with a stunning collection of royal photographs and a look at the Scottish Parliament, a lovely debating chamber set in an oppressive concrete brutalist-style building which I though was horrendous.
It was also a chance to take in the first stop of the Moulin Rouge world tour at the magnificent Playhouse and the obligatory sporting event.
Jeff Hoyle
We had arrived just after kick off, but we were thrilled to find that there was an evening game between Hibernian Ladies and Motherwell Ladies at the Meadowbank Sports Centre (ground 269), a rare opportunity to see the table topping Hibs take another step towards becoming champions of Scotland.
Another aim of the visit was to search out the cemetery at Dean, down by the Water of Leith which was heavily referenced in a recent talk at The King’s Lynn Society of Arts and Science presented by Dr Roger Bowdler on Gardens of the Dead.
We discovered a serene green space with wonderful monuments in a less visited suburb of the city, an attractive alternative to Greyfriars where the story and the statue of Greyfriars Bobby attracts the tourist crowds.
And tourist crowds there were, especially around the Royal Mile. Here the couple of pubs we tried were excellent but echoed with American, Spanish and French accents. So, on to Rose Street in the New Town where I had trouble reaching the bar in the Black Cat for my pint of locally brewed Moonwake beer due to a couple of Americans sprawled across the bar with their taster flights of whisky.
Not to worry, as a few hundred metres away was the divine Oxford Arms, haunt of Ian Rankin’s Rebus, devoid of tourist. With a tiny bar as you walk in and a corridor leading to a plain room decorated only with pictures for sale it resembled a Lancashire town pub rather than the ornate etched glass and dark wood palaces that abound in the city.
With wooden pew style seats, an engaging and interesting landlord and great beer this was probably my favourite bar, and one well worth searching out, possibly after a look around the Georgian House on nearby Charlotte Square.
There were others. The fabulous island bar in the Artisan and the tap room of the Bellfield brewery nestled between the railway track student halls and social housing, which was packed to the rafters ready for the evening quiz, when we called for our pre-match pint.
I often say that I would rather go somewhere new than return to old haunts, but with Edinburgh I am happy to make an exception. A wonderful city.