Edinburgh in the Sleet

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Yesterday, Malcolm had a Very Significant Birthday. No party, he said.  Definitely no party.  Instead, we travelled by train in style – First Class – to Edinburgh and back.

We nearly missed the train.  Thanks to Storm Ciara, an hour and a half was almost not enough to travel the 18 miles to Northallerton Station.  Our first major diversion was a mere mile from home, and things didn’t get better.

We were at the station in time. Just.  But the train was late.  Never mind. Beyond Newcastle, this is one of England’s finest train journeys.  The coast near Alnmouth, distant views of Holy Island, Berwick-on-Tweed, while enjoying a late breakfast, and unlimited coffee at our table – that stressful journey to the station had been worth it.

Once in Edinburgh, this is what we were faced with.

We put our heads down and made straight for the National Museum of Scotland.  And there we stayed.  All day.  It was no hardship. We had an interesting morning in the fascinating if not photogenic gallery devoted to Scotland’s twentieth century of social change. A very light snack.  And in the afternoon, we followed no plan.  Every gallery had something of interest.  So we each followed our noses, and visited far flung Inuit territory in Canada, plunged into the oceans, watched the Millennium Clock strike three, wondered at unwearable clothing in the costume gallery … We know we’ll be back – so much to see, and it’s so beautifully displayed and interpreted.

Back into the blizzard for the train home. Here’s something to smile at.

And here’s our journey home on the train.