Feeling the Heat

The fine city of Edinburgh hasn't always been the pristine jewel in Scotchland's crown that you see today. Situated slap bang on top of a coal seam, it's perfectly sited to take advantage of Nature's bounty with a roaring fire in every house, sometimes every room, for centuries. Not for nothing is the town still affectionately *cough* known as Auld Reekie.

Well, until the Clean Air Act and all that, when coal fires were banned in the city and we were all forced onto gas or that new-fangled "electricity". Some of us got quite a shock when the sand-blasters started their decades-long clean-up program on our buildings and we discovered that the natural colour of sandstone isn't black, as we'd assumed, but sandy. So what follows must have happened sometime before the switch.

There I am, sitting by the fire in the living room reading a book that I have bought with my own money. In walks my brother. Perhaps he's just been stung by a bee, or maybe he's on his period. Whatever the reason for his bad temper, he walks up to me, snatches the book from my hands, rips out the last several pages and throws them on the fire!

Well, it was all a long time ago and I've forgotten not only what that book was called, let alone who wrote it, but it still irks me that I was prevented from finding out how it ended by a selfish, insensitive twat. However, with any luck I'll come across another copy one day so no spoilers please. I'd like to find out for myself if his Merrie Men managed to spring Jesus from jail.