By the time we were leaving Harrogate I was quite certain something was up. I felt like rubbish and every five minutes I had to find a place to pee. A pure nightmare when you’re out all day. We had putzed around Harrogate looking for a Doctor with absolutely no luck, so we gave up and went to Edinburgh.
Our hostel was fab. It was on the Cowgate up the back of the Royal Mile, close enough to walk everywhere we needed to be. The walls were all painted different colours and it had a good vibe. I liked it very much, but when we got in, all I wanted to do was sleep off this nasty feeling in my insides. I was in quite a bit of pain at this point, so instead of messing about trying to find a Doctors’ Surgery that would take me, we headed for the Infirmary. Well the Infirmary on our map was very nearly shut. We found our way in and eventually found a person only to be told we’d have to go to the New Infirmary way the hell over on the other side of the city. We got there by taxi and that poor boy spent his first few hours in Edinburgh waiting for me in the A & E, bless him.
I eventually got out after peeing in a three cups and convincing the doctor that he wasn’t getting any blood out of me. Kidney Infection. Really? I could have told you that without any of this carry on.
We escaped and I proceeded to leave my antibiotics in the taxi. I am not bright when I’m tired, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, but nevermind. We had what may have been the best indian either one of us have ever had at a place called, you guessed it, Kurri. It was pissing down so we ended up in a little pub on the Grassmarket for a pint.
We spent the next day wandering around the shops, climbing the Scott monument which is this massive tower on the edge of Princes Street, the main strip, where you can see all over the city, and I lost the boy somewhere en route to the ground so chatted with a lovely Aussie girl for a while before heading back down. I thought he might have been paralyzed with vertigo at the top or maybe just busy taking pictures so let him take his time and found him in the end.
We wandered round where they make the kilts in the castle ground, had an Irn Bru and walked down the Royal Mile which is a cobbly street linking the castle with The Palace of Holyrood House down at the bottom. Sadly, the Queen was not in. There is probably a name for it but no idea what it is so I’ll just call it the giant hill, at the side of Holyrood house is where we hung out for a bit, having 99’s and chatting to Auntie M on my mobile.
Back at the hostel we were moving across the street to the other building, so we had our own little flat with a mini kitchen and bathroom. Most of the long-termers stayed in there. Our roomie for the night was a girl from “Milano” with this gorgeous Italian accent and long, curly dark hair. She was moving to Scotland for a semester to continue her fashion design studies in Dundee of all random places. She asked me why people always found that so strange. I told her she’d find out when she got there. It’s not that Dundee is a bad place, it’s a nice town, right on the Firth of Forth, lots of Highland Cows, enough students to keep you going. But of all the places in the world I would imagine studying fashion design, never mind on exchange from Milan, Dundee is just not it. Bless her, I hope she likes it.
We dozed in the room for a bit then headed off to find a proper Scottish pub. We checked out a few and ended up in the White Hart, which, like most others, swears to be the Oldest/Most Haunted pub in Edinburgh. The band were a group of Great-Grandparents sitting a table with a fiddle. Bless them they were adorable. And they handed out sheets with the words to the songs so we could all sing along.