A previous winter walk

Pitch black, 7.30am, rolling down the hill like an ambulant corpse, following the tail end spliff smoke of another worker on their way to the hive.

Playing the bus 'so we meet again' game during the short stretch between The Grindstone and Roslin Road, couldn't make out the number plate, grime, grit, smeared from slush splash yet to be cleaned. Game abandoned.

Choices:

Down the greasy Victorian paving on steep Roslin, with potential for slippage, or take to the tarmac/cobble mix of the middle.

Take the middle.  Road's fenced at the top, little danger of being run down.

Short-cut by the Environment Centre or stick to the pavement? Chance of treading in leaf-masked dog shit is high so take the pavement by the massive, student-filled houses.

Past a giant silver condom in the shape of a VW camper van, the vehicle silently bearing up under the ignominy, built for freedom and the open road, cocooned in an anti-rust, featherlite skin.

Northumberland Road, its surface delaminating already before the freeze, now flaking with tarmac psoriasis.

Toward the Spiritualist Church, it's changed hands, being re-roofed. Once here a 2nd degree acquaintance declared himself to be Christ arisen whilst being in contact with ‘the other side’ causing pursed-lipped mayhem before subsequently absconding with a white witch from Cemetery Road.

Here we are, in the office, how did I get here.