OCT9th-My first brilliant experience after removing myself from the eurostar is the dulcet singing voice of the french train announcements, it just made me feel so at home in their station.  Which explains why it takes me an hour to actually exit the place, what with a distinctly foreign aspect to the signage and trouble finding a luggage locker.  The coiffed spaniel riding up the escalator with her master greets me as I take my leave, and I realize I don’t believe ever having seen a dog on an escalator before, but it does have a ring to it.  The corner bakeries are populated with baskets of conspicuously French bread. Obscure French words for search, thing, without, rise like ramparts from the fog of war, but do little to assist in the purchase of cheese.  Better to have remembered the French for smoked, or cheddar; ended up with neither, just a wedge of something soft and smelling of moist earth, that spread proudly over heel of a baguette.

My favorite view of the Mona Lisa was of all the people queuing to take her picture, often with a flash despite her being glassed off; the reason being at least 90% of these art lovers actually walked away after their photo…without looking at the fucking painting!  At least their camera phone got to see the world’s most famous portrait.  And yes, I took this with my camera phone

St Margarets built in 1150 and still serving haggis milkshakes after all this time

A glittering attempt to capture us contained within the panorama of Scotslandia

A picturesque view from the monument of the sheer stupendous glory and sass that be edinburgh.  I limped up 200 fucking stairs, so appreciate.  They have a Cafe Nero just off the right in an alley, for those making a similar pilgrimage, and this one provides a magic card, that when stamped 9 times, manifests a free mug of coffee.

This species of fox does not enjoy posing in the wild, but I’m a fast hand at this photography stuff.

One is able to climb the mightily narrow staircases up to the top of this gothic sensation, and succumb to a panoramic view of the city.  Better than haggis.

We stayed at Skin, the fab pink lustered model who graces the wanks of the rich and famous, due largely to her spread in Bizarre.  I am still reverse jet lagged, so this view is basically what I saw every morning at 7am.  The city is a darling, so finite, so utterly crossable!  You can climb something high and see right where it gets eaten up by pasture on most every side.  Not nibbled mind you, thoroughly consumed!  I think perhaps 3 years of LA’s sprawl invites a sheer and gratifying pleasure beholding a modest city comfortable with its own proportions. 

london st pancras station, waiting for my silver streak to Edinburgh.  This trip incited a dear feeling in my cockles for the english sheep.  They looked like tiny snowflakes, scattered by the shadow of the oncoming train.

Vex refuses to pose for me, so we decided to turn out digits into dinosaurs, and let them battle it out before the view out my window, in verdant Clapham Common.  Mine was a carnevorous brontosoreass, thats a joke to remind myself that I’m vulgar and american despite my current living circumstances, ancestry, and accidental charm.