DOWN in Scotland’s capital, I try to avoid being killed by cars. Back home in Orkney, the traffic to fear mainly consists of tractors and neeps. (A bouncing neep can actually do a lot of damage, denting your sense of selfhood. Being laid low by a neep on the loose can make you feel a right eejit).
I’m not down very often in the capital these days. I don’t venture out of rural Orkney much at all. I worry in case there might be rioting in the streets of Edinburgh. The city of and Royal Burgh of Kirkwall has yet to see such terrible excitements. (Mind you, in its Viking heyday it had more excitement than it really wanted, especially when the likes of Thorfinn the Skullsplitter and Eirik Bloodaxe were doing a peedie spot of burning and looting).