A shithole, that is without question. But it’s my kind of toilet and it’s defined the past half decade of my life. I’m in that KFC three days a week. I’ve seen some faces come and go, yet I am the constant. It’s my escape from the office, which is even worse than the actual TV show The Office. I haven’t seen the American version.
Bye for now.
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.
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.
A rainbow above KFC at Meadowbank. This is quite the surreal moment.
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.
Meadowbank Shopping Centre on a Sunday morning. A dour consumer safari park of the most depressing order during the working hours, at first light it reminds me of Gary Oldman’s line in Leon (1994): ‘I like these calm little moments before the storm. It reminds me of Beethoven. Can you hear it? It’s like when you put your head to the grass and you can hear the growin’ and you can hear the insects.’
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 