Or Edinburgh bra, if one is to be consequent with local pronunciation.
Anyway, the break is coming to an end. Boo-hoo-hoo.
Yesterday i sat for about an hour on Arthur's Seat (an old volcano, smack in the middle of the city! Is this a funky town or what?!?), got my hair blown by the wind and looked about myself, all the way out to the sea, while listening to old Celtic music. Ingredients for a transcendental experience? Perhaps not, but i pondered: does what we see remain somewhere? I mean, things obviously decay, rub away, disappear, but is the experience stored somehow? Can some mind some where some time see and feel what someone felt 10000 years ago?
I like to believe the answer is yes. But i'm not talking about god here, mind you.
Yesterday evening Mariteria and i went to see Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, this super cool play by Tennessee Williams. Clap clap for the actors, people! Brick was anything but, though: more like a bon-bon, actually. Maggie the cat was good, too. They had tough roles to act, particularly for Scottish actors who not only have to get down the complex emotions in the play, but also the Southern drawls of the characters. Sometimes they didn't quite manage the latter, and the Scottish closed vowels spilled everywhere, dragged around...
Connection ending, gotta publish before i loose it.
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