Why do people pay to scream? Don’t they get utility bills?

The Star Flyer at Edinburgh Christmas market

To be fair to myself, the main gifts have been sourced. I was hunting for those bits and pieces for the big day, like placemats, wine glasses and gin. You know, the necessities.

As darkness fell, Edinburgh grew even more stunning. Even the Christmas market managed to look slightly less tacky, although it is still fairly alarming to come out of TK Maxx and have screaming people swirling about the Scott Monument. It’s like some sort of flying banshee assault on the castle. It’s a constant mystery to me. Why do people pay to scream? Don’t they get utility bills?

The evening was cold, but clear. I thought to myself, I’ll take a wee wander through the market, and surprisingly pleasant it was, too. There seem to be fewer stalls, and a little bit more room. I actually bought something. I also treated myself to a mulled wine. Yes. I like mulled wine. There. I’ve admitted it.

Now, I usually get that weak stuff they have in supermarkets. Honestly, it’s almost a breakfast drink.

This version I bought from a charming chap in a fake Alpine hut, and jolly pleasant it was, too. And medicinally strong. In no time at all, I was giggling gently to myself and singing along with Bing Crosby.

No, they weren’t playing White Christmas, but I could clearly hear it in my head. And that’s when I thought, that Star Flyer thing. By jingo, I could do that.

Fortunately three things stopped me getting airborne. One, time for the bus; two, the queue; and three, the sudden realisation that I really needed to find a loo. The terror of a sudden high altitude centrifugally powered leak was real. I could have shorted out the tram lines.

But now I know how they lure people up into the air. It’s that mulled wine.