Whatever that means
Ordinarily, when on the train with the bike, I sit on one of the little seats in the hallway because (a) my wallet and camera etc are on the bike and I can’t be arsed moving them and (b) I’m too hot (and probably smelly) to be sitting beside anyone. Yet it has never occurred to me to poke the camera against the glass to take photos of whatever should whizz past or be happening on the platforms. Dolt.
Anyway, late start, so I decided to be lazy too and cycle to the station and take the train most of the way to South Gyle and tootle in from there. Very pleasant until I met the Cigs guy and he made me perform like a seal and then he told lies about me. Swine. Violated. That’s how I feel.
And then I left early so a half day really. Nice. Should do more of that. Much more.
And then strum, strum, strum, ouch, strum, oo yah bastard that still hurts.