![]() ![]() Said, ‘Did you know Thomas Carlyle and his young wife Jane Welsh stayed in this exact cottage after they got married?’ I shook my head even though I’d read the wee blue plaque on the front gate. The McGregors are really proud of this place soon as I got here they were yakking on about it. Built when land was aplenty, everything’s on the same level, save for the loft conversion. This is one of them nineteenth-century stone cottages, so sturdy it could last another three hundred years. Even have to take off my coat, it’s sweltering inside. I’m taking liberties ’cause them two are so minted it’s enough to set off my allergies. ![]() He gets up and the two of them head off to the kitchen. ‘I’ll help you, dear,’ Mr McGregor says in a rich, gravelly voice. Mrs McGregor raises her eyebrows, opens her mouth, thinks better of it and shuts it again. Always squeeze ’em for more, and I’m famished like them Oxfam poster kids. ![]() ‘Only if you’re offering biscuits,’ I say. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Mrs McGregor asks. Feels good to sit my butt on this sofa and veg for a mo. My quads ache and I’ve got chunks of hot lead for feet. I make that a fifteen-mile trip around Edinburgh, give or take a few. ![]() Hiked up the B702, all the way up to Liberton, doing my deliveries, and swung back round the bypass, last stop Lanark Road in Juniper Green. I’m really not supposed to be doing this, but a girl’s gotta get paid. ![]()
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