Tag Archives: Abbeyhill
Another feline Spaghetti Western.
Your everyday Abbeyhill face-off … between cats. When I departed they were still exchanging stares out of a Sergio Leone Mexican standoff.
Abbeyhill, Edinburgh. A cat eyeballed me this morning. I ran away.
Nothing much to see here – just the Abbeyhill jungle cat lording it over its kingdom.
Standard Meadowbank scenes.
A thoroughly frightful February in the Meadowbank ghetto this morning, with Arthur’s Seat in the backdrop conforming to its winter type; there is a desolation in the air here 24/7 and a ‘hobby’ of mine is listening to peak The Smiths in all their miserableness every time I lumber through the car park with a protein bar nabbed from Sainsbury’s.
That wee KFC picnic area is a delightful sight come spring, the main attraction hordes of local tribes (most off their nuts on crack cocaine) fending off seagulls.
Edinburgh’s own winter wonderland.
Meadowbank/Abbeyhill is drab and dreary for much of the year, and during the summer months approximates ‘peak chav’ when they all crawl out of the woodwork and luxuriate in the sweltering heat.
Winter on The Ranch is tolerable, however. The season has a calming effect on the locals as ‘Cloud City’ acts as the temporary backdrop.
Environmental determinism is real.
Sainsbury’s, Meadowbank.
I have been in this store more times than any other building in the history of my life. I have visited this shop on so many occasions that I could win a rebooted version of Supermarket Sweep blindfolded in record time; I know the location of every item and can blitz a £60 shop in under three minutes. I’ve conducted some cursory calculations and my conclusion is that I’ve graced the self-scan machines with my presence at least 3,500 times, which *must* be unique, unless I’m so solipsistic I’ve overlooked the fact that local working-class fanny magnet Fred (or whoever) has lived over the road for 40-odd years and ventures inside merely for chats.
Anyway, yesterday I saw a midget outside kick the fuck out of a trolley because ‘it’ stole his £1 coin. Scenes. He looked like Verne Troyer on steroids.
Edinburgh – summer in the city.
Elm Row.
Abbeyhill.
One day you need a Thunder Buddy, the next you’re in the throes of a heatwave. Welcome to Edinburgh, the bipolar, chav-strewn Athens of the North.
It was so scorching in Abbeyhill this afternoon that the newsagents were for once selling more bottles of water than fags. A day to remember.
Turquoise anomaly.
Abbeyhill/Meadowbank is a veritable toilet, by all accounts a shithole. George Best once drank here at the Artisan Bar when he played for Hibs. That’s the legacy of this ghetto. These days it’s a junkie paradise. However, this building is nuts, totally #peacocking. Scenes.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 