It hardly presents the pristine picture it did from Harvey Nichols’ fourth floor, the top storey, it did to us, Gordon Drummond and I, after St Andrew Square’s make-over.
The panoramic view from up there was one of Edinburgh’s finest
Gordon, the store’s managing director, was passionate to a possessive degree about the Square. It instantly lost its charm once the motley collection of tents moved in, more like a Bedouin encampment.
With their departure, scheduled for today and with sanity and sanitation again prevailing, Mr D is back on a high. His naturally sunny disposition has returned.
Every reason to smile. Harvey Nicks is spending close on half a million for refurbishment in this its tenth anniversary in Edinburgh, due for completion in October.
“I took office in April 2003, soon after we became a reality in the Capital,” he’s telling me. “We’ve been a year-on, year-on success. It can only get better. The trams will stop virtually outside our door.”
This will be an everything’s-coming-up-roses year for Harvey Nicks. It is opening stores in Liverpool and Kuwait. A restored Square here will be seen from the top floor as a bonus by Mr D, the sunshine man.
A CREEP, did you say? Little people. And little between the pair, is there, come to think of it?
You could put them in the same bag and chuck them overboard, preferably weighted. Anthony Worrall Thomson and Paul Daniels. Worrall T for pilfering and the nation well knows that was purely an aberration.
Then, days later and with superb timing, there was tabloid panic over Daniels losing a finger. Or was it two? I can only hope Paul got my get unwell card.
You might call both of them creeps but nothing’s as creepy as Karl Lagerfeld’s gloves. Never pictured without them. If you don’t want to see them, look away now.