Edinburgh: Part I...

The Missus bought me a surprise trip for my birthday. She didn't, however, tell me where we were going until two weeks after I turned 47, and we arrived at King's Cross Station in London to embark on our adventure. This drove me slightly insane and she milked it for all it was worth. It's fair to say that she squeezed the teat of secrecy bone dry on this occasion...

The bad news was the leaving point meant the suspected trip to the World Snooker Championships was off. The good news, though, was that it meant something else was happening, and I didn't have to wait long to find out. About five minutes later, the Other Woman and the Other Woman's Long-suffering Fella mysteriously appeared and everything fell into place: a Bank Holiday weekend in Edinburgh. 

Getting to Edinburgh, however, entailed a five-hour train journey with the Missus and the Other Woman, who veered between congratulating themselves on their cunning planning... and ripping the piss out of me. This was made even worse because I felt like somebody who'd been on the end of a Jeremy Beadle prank, but who couldn't repeatedly punch those responsible because it was a beautiful and thoughtful kindness. I fear I am not good at not knowing things.

We did some cool stuff and a long weekend with three people I love very much was ace.