Wot a fucking excellent visit that was.

So good to see Pepper & Dougal again.

Had ice-cream sundaes and then onwards to Gullen. Plunged through a freezing cold gale straight into the North Sea, stopping only to attempt to fly Dougal’s kite. (Now broken.) Learnt the meaning of the phrase “sandblast” and laughed more than I have for months.

Went and dried our feet at Pepper’s Mums hoose. Enjoyed scampering around being nosey.

Back to the ranch where we played magnetic games and waited for my antibiotics to kick in before inventing a new drink (Collins) and proceeding to drink it pretty much solidly until Monday afternoon. Collins and its celtic cousin – McCollins - are now a necessity for Nowhere. Thanks to Dougal’s parents for supplying the Collins.

Ate bacon rolls in the company of the Sargeant’s father. (Sargeant Major?) an excellent chap indeed; reminds me of someone...

Watched open mouthed as Faithless exceeded all expectations and made it into my top five live performances ever, which is no mean feat.

All piled back after the gig, collapsed on Pepper’s bed and laughed our tits off. Bum.... Ba.... Chaar. Bum-ba-Chaar.

Was terribly sad to say goodbye to my burners - this geography thing is becoming a real problem - and also, this time, to the city itself. My obsession with all things Scottish is intensified with every visit. I like the cold, the gothic architecture, the fact they’ve got a fuck off great castle on a hill. I like that Leith’s there, I like the way the wind constantly buffets everything so that all the trees are bent backwards, I like Irn Bru, I like the glooming grey skies and the rough grey sea and I like the Scots.