Earlier in the week I dialled Buterfield 8 like my muse E.T. but with a lot less panache.
No, not the wrinkly E.T. with the long muzzle who looks like he just crawled out of a torty shell, Ronnie Wood holds that soubriquet, I mean blog goddess Elizabeth Taylor.
I don't think I'll ever buy a belted coat again, I have three belted Maxmara coats and feek like a sack of rotting spuds in every one of them.
I mooched along to the Caledonia Hotel which has recently fallen into the affluent arms of the Waldorf Astoria group.
Caledonia Hotel, Edinburgh,
Ooh that central area is a bit of a mess, I love the gilded banquettes and carpet but the whole design lacks cohesion, in the Caley bar too there is a schizophrenic mind at play.
Still, I'll be back, the champagne/seafood bar has a certain siren call which whispers of bubbles, salty crustaceans and good times.
Slanj Kilts taxi - gratuitous tartan shot.
Hamilton and Inches, Royal warrent holders.
The old/new juxtaposition is romantic as befits a grand hotel, it is touching to stand in the lobby and imagine that a century ago, this was a railway platform and that the stalwart Hamilton and Inches clock on the wall, was and still is, five minutes fast, lest any Scot, God forbid, be tardy for their train.
It will soon be Remembrance Sunday.
I hope that all of you will spare two minutes to remember those who fought and died for democracy and freedom and those who continue to fight.
I bought my poppy from an old soldier earlier on in the week, he stooped proudly in his uniform, his medals embellishing his jacket like a sentence.
The road from Glasgow to Edinburgh is paved with poppies like Flander's Field. The Iron Horse boldly sports a poppy breastplate and the Pyramids along the motorway are each stained with the blood stained bloom.
I feel a spot of baking coming on this weekend,
I quite fancy lifting our spirits with these pretty little snowcapped buns,