'So you are Huttonian' the Piper said. 'We meet at last' There was something menacing in his tone which sent shivers down my back. His eyes were narrowed, his Sporran bristled (it looked look covered with pubic hair to my untutored eye) aggressively. I looked down to his violin case usually illiberally sprinkled with 5 p pieces and the odd pound coin that he had put there suggestively. No coins: just a shiny, sharp, gleaming edged Claymore-straight from Brave Heart, via the Simply Scottish Souvenir Shoppe. Its handle was towards its owner. I turned to edge away-a growl sent a further shiver down my spine: there was the wee dog and its mendicant master blocking my retreat. It was not so wee close up, filling its combat jacket, a bit of something-it looked like human skin, protruding through its upper fangs. ' Give Beggars a bad name, he does' said the mendicant- '****ing Blog. What does he know about us..slaving away.honest living' 'Too right. No taste for proper music, ****ing tone deaf Sassanach'said the Piper' He needs to mend his manners'
I looked for escape. Not a chance. We were hemmed in by Oriental tourists. Cell phone cameras at the ready eager to record a bit of genuine traditional Scottish happy slapping; much more fun than even live Origami, any day.
The wee dog growled louder, the Mendicant reached into his pocket, a gleam of metal, and the Piper's hand closed around the handle of the Claymore.
'Wake up' said the wife as she brought in my tea. Early start-you have an appointment in Embra. I struggled awake and counted my limbs.
I avoided Princes Street this morning.Coming and going. And bought
two copies of the Big Issue.
Pathetic, isn't it.
Labels: Embra, Mendicant Pipers