Some friends from my Medford knitting group were spending the week in Edinburgh so I went up to meet them. First, the obligatory litany of travel woes. Train for the short ride from our neighborhood to central Manchester was canceled. I forgot that I'd bought a ticket for this leg and saw the notification while I was in the cab so it was actually a bit of luck for me, because the cancelation made me eligible for a refund. 

At the station, I learned my train to Preston where I was transferring was canceled.  The announcement was made just as the earlier train to Preston left. Pivoting! I could go to Warrington Bank Quayside and meet my same train to Edinburgh there. The service was on Transport for Wales, the fifth train company that I've had to establish an account to use. This one had the added frisson of requiring me to specify whether I prefer the English or Welsh interface. 

This train was less than one stop away when it was delayed somehow, enough that I'd miss my connection. Repivot to buying a new ticket via York. A kind soul woke me up on arrival.  Smooth sailing from there, except on the way home we got to Preston late and about half the people on the train had to sprint across the platform to our connection.

Edinburgh's Christmas markets were up and running and the place was packed. Looked like similar stuff to the Manchester markets: rides, the European version of state fair food, probably several varieties of hot booze. There had been some talk of checking these out, but on seeing the crowds that turned to an unspoken and unanimous N-O. Might have been more pleasant on a week day.

I had a couple of hours to kill before everyone else got in, most of which I spent in clothing stores that we either have in Manchester but somehow getting there in the very narrow window when they are open but I am not working has proved impossible, or that we don't have in Manchester because there is a gaping void of retail between London and Hadrian's Wall and I had to come all this way to try on some coastal grandma corduroys. At Marks and Spencer, I got a pair of black wool pants that might seem like a basic staple but they're actually the focal point of a whole new personality I'm workshopping. Token pop-in to the Royal Scottish Academy.

Meal Deal lunch in the M&S cafeteria, then met J and went to Dovecot Studios. In many British towns there seems to be the question of "What shall we do with the Victorian swimming pool." In Edinburgh, they turned it into a textile gallery and tapestry workshop. We were there to see the exhibit of Ikea textiles. As a Finn I'm constitutionally banned from saying anything complimentary about Sweden so I can neither confirm nor deny that it made for a pleasant thirty minutes. Assembly with J, M, and L for dinner. Dinner at a pub across the street, it was fine.

In the morning we compared objectives, which were highly aligned. First, a yarn store, and as an insight into what this subculture is like, J had to deliver a bag of homemade cookies baked by someone in her OTHER knitting group (harrumph) and promised to the store owner, with whom he is friendly on Instagram. It was a bit of a walk to the fabric store and there was brief consideration of the bus. My contribution to the discourse was skepticism that this so-called bus would get us there faster than walking. As you might expect, the fabric store had a lot of tartan and it made me wish I had the tiniest wisp of connection to one. There's even a tartan for Chinese-Scots! I was fairly restrained in both locations (by my standards, anyway) because since our arrival I have developed a potentially troubling relationship with Ye Olde ebay.co.uk.

A block or two up from the fabric store was a prime cluster of charity shops. The bunching up does make sense- finding something good at one place will only make you more excited to go into the next one. I bought my second and third charity shop blazers and am now CUT OFF from buying any more blazers (except if I find one in 100% wool tweed that fits PERFECTLY).

Final token cultural event of the day was Fruitmarket, an art gallery I actually wanted to visit because of the magazine selection in their gift shop (when we got there I couldn't remember what I was looking for, but whatever it was I don't think they had it). They also had art at the art gallery.

Ages before my train left but once it got dark my brain started pinging me that surely it was time to get going, and land's sakes was it raining. That whirly ride was still going, though! Killed time in the mall at the Scandinavian glorified dollar store and the Scandinavian glorified dollar store. Home, against all odds.