Never noticed till now. Not as sharp-eyed as I was. But there’s a small, colourful circular plaque on one of the gateposts leading to The Dome in George Street that merits a mention.
It goes back a bit. Far back. It serves as a reminder that the Royal Caledonian Horticultural Society was established there in 1809 by 17 Edinburgh worthies who met at the Royal College of Physicians. They promoted the best in locally-grown fruit and veg and flowers.
So this is why you’ll see The Dome’s kichen staff kiss the plaque every day on their way in to work.
They do rustle up a mouth-watering dish of mince and tatties. And the floral decor in there is a pleasure to behold. I do love flowers myself and I’m not a pansy.
Tom Farmer once told me to remember to take time to smell the flowers. A work ethic Sir Tom himself pursued.
Little squirts. You could feel it, the pride oozing fom the parents as their offspring – eight, nine and ten-year-olds – toddled onto the catwalk at London’s first Global Kids Fashion Week.
Precocious as you like. Not long past the stage of throwing the toys out of the pram. Destined to become insufferable brats, many of them.
For sure their mums and dads will rue the day they let them near a catwalk. Or bratwalk.
Afterwords . . .
. . . In praise of Jagger. Marianne Faithfull frothing today: “Mick is a cultivated, kind man. People don’t know that. Keith is easier to read. Mick is very complex. I know him a well as anybody. Our whole friendship and love is outside the public experience.”