Do tell us, John, we’re all dying to get your views on the Big Wheel (tall as the Scott Monument, you wouldn’t believe!) planned for Princes Street Gardens. What’s the spin?
No, no, no I’m fuming. A thousand times no. Never on yer Nellie. Can’t the City Fathers and Mothers leave the Gardens alone? Leave them with what remains of their dignity?
Just wait. Any day now they’ll divulge their next big secret for the Gardens. Trotting your way . . . donkey rides with candy floss stalls.
What they’ll want to charge at the gates for admission will astound you. Inevitably it will become an all-ticket venue.
Collect your Gardens ticket along with your Lottery ticket. See you at the turnstiles. We are talking about both Gardens, east and west, don’t forget.
Live and let fry
Goodnight and goodbye but not good morning to the hearty Scottish breakfast. If the doomsters are right the big fry-up has had its chips.
Well, not so much chips. More the bangers, bacon, eggs, black pudding, grilled tomatoes. Throw in a kipper or two and, for the record, I prefer my big fry smothered with ketchup.
This calamitous gossip comes from a televised “Big Adventure Breakfast Report” showing how overweight Brits are giving this traditional nosh the heave.
I have a gut feeling it won’t happen.