Susan Morrison: An idea to give the Capital a lift

Published on Thursday 29 July 2010 16:24

In deepest Belize there's a huge hole in the ground. The SAS abseil down into the gloom, filming themselves and shrieking with excitement when spiders the size of dinner plates scuttle past.

So what? Have you seen the potholes in Edinburgh? Pick a road, any road, and I'll show you a gap in the tectonic plate that even the SAS would blanche at. I swear in Saughton there's a chasm wide enough to eat a 22 bus.

Some of these potholes are so deep, I wouldn't be surprised to see a group of baffled SAS lads standing blinking at the Castle one day, having started the morning climbing into a hole in Belize, and then clambered out into the Grassmarket.

Of course, it's all our fault because we drive on the roads. So let's try walking - if you dare. If our roads are crumbling under the impact of our cars, Edinburgh must be home to the most heavy-footed pedestrians in Europe. Our pavements are so pounded they resemble breaking ice fields.

Look, we're not daft. We know it's not our fault. There's a matter of the trams (by the way, how long is that lonely tram going to sit up on Princes Street? What are they waiting for? Another tram so they can start a breeding programme?) Then there 'utilities' companies and their fiendish plan to make us reliant on the water, gas, electricity and endless reality TV shows being pumped into our homes by preventing us from leaving them.

So here's a plan. Raise the entire city on hydraulics, fix the utilities, move the drains, pipe in cable TV, gosh, you could even do the trams, then gently lower the entire lot. Fill in the holes and viola!

Oh, and have a whip round to send the SAS lads back to Belize.

Porty holiday spirit

Until a few years ago no holiday was complete unless you took a crash course in conversational French, Mexican cooking, Olympic windsurfing and/or attended three pilates workshops a day.

Quite frankly, it sounded exhausting. I am thrilled to report, therefore, that retro-holidays are becoming all the rage. The previously moneyed classes refer to this as a staycaction. We Scots have always referred to it as Hame'lldaeme.

I see an opportunity here. Let's turn Porty into Scotland's Staycationland.

Let's resurrect B&Bs with floral wallpaper, heart-stopping breakfasts, and that faint smell of boiled cabbage.

Staff them with traditional B&B landladies complete with arms like stevedores, faces like skelpt kippers, all-weather wrap-round pinnies and all purpose get-lost attitude.

We shall import jelly fish to be prodded with sticks and we shall patrol the beach to insist that all fathers shall paddle in the shallows, and all mothers shall wear proper bathing suits with elastic coming out of the seams. Sand castles will be built to a regulation height and fish teas will be eaten. Yes, my friends, this is the way ahead.Next to it, we can build Stag&HenWorld, complete with lap dancing bars for him, Chippendale knock-off shows for her and wipe-clean streets for both.

Why duvet do it?

People have long considered the Swedes, the Norwegians and the Danes as model world citizens.

I'm not sure about the Finns. I think they just lurk up there, like a sort of giant Grampian Region, building hotels out of ice and eating dried reindeer.

Anyway, there seems to be a general feeling that the Scandinavians are A Good Thing. There's rarely a resolution to any world conflict without an Erik or Sven beaming in the background in that Swedish social worker way.

Well, I have my doubts. Any nation that creates The Duvet Cover cannot be trusted. Changing the duvet cover requires the combined skills of a ninja, weightlifter and Houdini.

It smacks to me of a plot to control the world by keeping us busy whilst they overrun the planet with smorgasbord and very pale wood furniture.

Bog awful answer

Certain questions have certain expectations.

I asked the receptionist, 'Do you have a loo? ' She said 'Yes'

That's all. Just yes. Usually there's a follow-up to this answer, which is to gesture to the right or left whilst issuing a stream of instructions, such as the door's a bit sticky, the light switch is on the left, don't pull the cord, last week the paramedics thought Maureen had had a coronary, kicked the door in and what a to-do that was. Push the button twice for a big flush, if you need to. But no, just 'yes'.

Until she said, acidly, 'do you want to use it?'.

Why did she think I'd ask the question in the first place? Did she think I was the Toilet Inspector or something? Just checking you've actually got one, and stopped that chucking out the window business? And you're adhering to the latest European sanitary clause directive?

All together now, everyone knows, there ain't no sanitary clause.