But we were up for longer than that, so we did other things too. Like visit art galleries, including the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art and its annexe, Dean Gallery, across the road. 'From Death to Death and other small tales' was on at the main gallery, and I'm ashamed to say that I didn't give it the attention it deserved. I could mention much walking already, and an ankle carping bitterly about the (no longer new!) shoe but the honest truth is that I didn't properly engage. I've mentioned this before, my tendency upon (many an) occasion to zip around going 'like that, don't like that, can't see the point of that' and leave. I did exactly that this time. There were things I got, other things that I suspect I would never make enough effort to get, but either way, it deserved more attention. Luckily there's still plenty of time, and I shall go back and do it properly before that time runs out. No really, it will happen.
The annexe was more what I had in mind on this particular visit - less demanding of my concerted interaction, I suppose. We were taken with this piece of work in the grounds:
Lots of Paolozzi, from the sculpture outside:
But there were plenty of things I could have spent the day looking at. Toddlers and small children rushing about in the National Museum of Scotland on Chambers Street for instance, with a few hours reserved for the millennium clock (I need a better look at that).
Then, as we set off for home, the world softly changed. There was already a certain amount of snow and ice (we were in Scotland. It's February) but a gentle, powdery, persistent snow was sleeting down, coating everywhere cold with just enough of an icing sugar dusting to change the world to delicate black and white while still allowing the bones of the land to show through. It's not exactly a busy area, crossing the country south from Edinburgh, and we saw barely a soul - it felt very dreamlike.