yup that's me: always smiley, never grumpy,
always happy to go a run never mind the crappy weather
Saturday was just awful weather. Low grey clouds drizzling on and off all day. Mary is good for just getting out and getting some miles done. I am much more likely to fester at home disagreeing with folk of the internet. However, I threw some kit on and went out for a short run with M hoping it would lift my spirits. And the Sunday forecast was better so it wouldn't be an entirely dead weekend.
I was admiring this goosander as we passed another couple of walkers who were also watching it. Goosander says I and he "corrects" me, calling it by it's other name, Merganser. The goosander he informs me has a green head. While yes he is correct, he doesn't realise it is the male merganser he is talking about, the female having a brown head as above. I did mention the different sexes appear differently but he was not for budging. Instead of asking does he have access to google in his house I let it go and ran on. What a tool!
Mike "train in vain" Lynch and I had been discussing the lack of quality Graffiti near railway cycle paths. I'm not a huge fan of graffiti (I hate tagging for tagging's sake) but it is a visual art of sorts and can brighten up a gloomy tunnel if done well. Saw these in the Rodney Street tunnel which has the benefit of keeping you dry on a damp day.
From there we took the cyclepath past soaked squirrels and the Water of Leith back towards Salamander St where Mary was to pick up a parcel.
it's funny how you can run past the same gargoyle
many times without ever noticing it
we detoured briefly, looking for wrens, but there was f all
this frieze along the top of the old Corn Exchange building.
Who goes to as much trouble these days?
So DHL so-called couriers had totally failed to deliver Mary's parcel. After giving them an earful or email-ful she rearranged for them to drop it off at a nearby collection point: 1 Carron Place, off Salamander St. After running up and down the length of Carron Pl - one of the warehoused, near derelict industrial estates, we asked a security guy having a fag break if he knew where the DHL collection point was. He answered that he was it and took us into his storage warehouse explaining DHL don't have any signage because they are slipshod fucktards barely able to organise their arses from their elbows. He didn't say all of that but we read between the lines. He himself took an age to print out the paperwork and sign out the package but since he hadn't had any company for days was chatting away in a friendly manner, stinking of cigarettes. His unit (photo below) contained all these packaging materials which are just about the exact requirements for dismembering, wrapping and disposing of a body. Cross ref Dexter (well worth a rerun on Netflix) and every other serial killer photoplay since.
We ran home form there, me with a square, boxy box under my arm. The end.