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TUESDAY, NOV. 12: We sleep around the clock: 10 PM to 10 AM. This is the first morning in weeks we have not needed to be awakened by an alarm clock. While the water pot heats water for tea, I stare out the kitchen window into the internal courtyard and garden. It’s gray and raining. I read the newspaper. Tara and Cheyenne cook a full course Brit breakfast in the kitchen. “Thank you, ladies.” In the early afternoon, we walk through Princes Street Gardens and up to Princes Street -- the primary shopping street in Edinburgh. I leave the girls to shop, while I check out the latest UK metaphysical book releases at Waterstone’s. Tara soon joins me. Cheyenne goes off to listen to “vinyls” at HMV Records. We have Starbucks coffee and read on a third-floor indoor balcony that looks out on the gardens and front side of the Castle. Two hours later, Chey returns. She is going to spend her Healing Arts Festival earnings on vinyls she won’t be able to get in America. Since our arrival in the UK, the newspapers have been having a field day over Princess Diana’s butler confessing to slipping her lovers in and out of the royal quarters in the months before she died. In keeping with the sexual news theme, in today’s “Scotsman,” there is a major story titled, “Sex Please -- We’re Scottish.” A “National Sex & Relationship Survey 2002” was commissioned by a top health magazine, Result: Women in Scotland have more sex than women in England. Scottish women average sex 11 times a month. English women nine times. Also, 62-percent of Scottish women would rather have sex with their partner than go shopping or eat chocolate, compared with 50-percent in England. Hm-m-m-m-m. I recall reporting on a similar story three years ago. Obviously the Scots are delighted to beat the English in any way they can. Dinner at Old Orleans probably wouldn’t rate highly in Louisiana. I don’t know how you can have Cajun concoctions without fish or gator tail. But it tastes good to us. Back in the apartment, we watch a TV documentary about people who use plastic surgery and tattooing to turn themselves into animals. The show includes abundant full frontal male nudity. This is followed by a program featuring couples trying out and rating sex toys. Nothing has changed since last we visited the weird world of UK television. |
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WEDNESDAY, NOV. 13: 7:50 AM -- the loud “clank” of the mail slot snapping closed in the hallway outside our bedroom awakens both Tara and me. My wife gets up to make tea, tosses the mail to me. It’s a flyer from Domino’s Pizza promoting “New Ribs.” A headline says, “ORDER NOW AND GET STUCK IN!” I assume this means if you order two large pizzas, they’ll “stuck in” the five ribs featured in the photo. But this may be a faulty assumption. There could be erotic implications. It’s too early in the morning to think too deeply about such things, but one thing is certain, this is the not the Domino’s Pizza I know at home. Yesterday at Waterson’s, Tara purchased a new tarot book, and while we sip tea, she does readings in bed. My wife drifts into her own world studying the book. I read “Spiritual Intelligence” by Michal Levin -- an English medium. She begins with the assumption we’re all energy beings, affected by the energy of other people, colors, sounds, objects, foods, environment, and our own thoughts and feelings. She says, “Allowing anyone else to enter your energy field is a serious choice. As soon as a masseur puts his or her hands on you, not only are they entering your energy field but they are putting their energy into you. To be blunt, in the transfer of energy you are taking on their issues -- the unhelpful as well as the helpful. An osteopath, reflexologist or chiropractitioner is doing exactly the same.” I fall asleep reading. So does Tara. We awaken at noon. It’s 2 PM before we’re out on the streets exploring. Tara finds a tiny Wicca shop and quizzes the owner about local activities. She suggests we visit Rosslyn Chapel and provides instructions on how to get there. Tara and Cheyenne buy souvenirs for friends and family. We let Cheyenne get her belly button pierced at the tattoo and piercing parlor. Tara decides to wait and see how Chey does before committing to piercing her own. The piercing guys tease Tara. “You’ll be back, you know you want one too.” In the UK, only titanium is allowed for piercings, because it is supposedly safer than stainless steel, which is the standard in the US. I hope so. |
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For tonight, I’ve purchased tickets to a play at the King Theater titled “Girls’ Night Out.” The flyer copy says, “Sending the hormone levels into a frenzy of excitement ... a feel good show in every sense.” I had planned that Tara and I would attend, but at the last moment Cheyenne wants to go. I wonder how appropriate this is, but the theater people are reassuring. No nudity. More flyer copy: “Girls’ Night Out is the hilariously acclaimed show telling of the most unforgettable hen night ever. If you’ve never been to a hen night or wondered what happens at one then look no further. Watch out! Aunty Ivy’s decided to give Jane a hen night she’ll never forget. It’ll be a night of revelations. Four girls in search of a good time. Four lads who strut their stuff. As the show progresses the laughter gets louder, the dances raunchier and the clothing skimpier?” The red velvet theater interior is filled with rococo carvings, a grand ceiling, and private boxes three tiers high on both sides. The majority of the audience is middle-aged to older women. Cheyenne is surely the youngest in attendance, but this is a school night for local children. The first act is hilarious. At intermission we enjoy the Scottish tradition of rich vanilla ice cream sold by young men with boxes hanging around their necks. They stand before the stage, offering the confections. The play ends to howls of laughter. Cheyenne thinks it was okay considering how “old” the actors were. We guess the average age to be 25. |
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The girls on the streets of Edinburgh. |
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