Here’s a piece of advice you’re getting for nothing. For free. Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing, steer well clear of Waverley Bridge. To be avoided like the plague.
Every chance you’ll be hopelessly snarled up in a traffic jam there. A tail-back snaking from the lights at Princes Street all the way back to the end of the bridge at Cockburn Street and Market Street.
What’s it all about? The damn trams, you won’ be surprised. Everything stops for T. T for trams. Mind you, Edinburgh’s visitors ‘‘season’’ has yet to get under way, to warm up.
The combination of trams and, on this bridge, tour buses is lethal, I tell you. Lethal.
Lord of the flies. See that pesky fly that had the audacity, the bare-faced cheek, to land on Kate’s nose at Ayers Rock in the royal tour of Oz . . . Edinburgh Zoo are mad keen to bring it to Edinburgh, special delivery, to get frisky with a locally bred fly.
A tourist attraction that could well work for the publicity-hungry zoo’ s gigantic panda flops.
By the way, the all-teeth-and-permasmile Duchess is admitting the baby George is putting on weight. It’s all those white pudding suppers, Kitty. Get that bairn on a strict diet. But fast.
Afterwords . .
. . . ‘‘I’ve been asked many times what was my No 1 interview. Tough question.’’ That’s Parky talking, selling insurance in telly commercials to tide him over.
His sky-high pension should be enough, you’d imagine.
He’s giving away a free pen with each inquiry.