Section 87 is North of the border depending how you see it
Vernon and Nsansa checked into their bed and breakfast accommodation, in a quiet Georgian residential street in Edinburgh, tired and jaded.Gilmore Street; it looked promising. Though they’d both approved of it online, admiring it’s modern mock-authentic farmhouse chic, they were less enamoured late that night with the bedroom. It was as if the second story of the house had refused to leave the era of 1980s décor; fruit n’ flower borders competed with brocaded pelmets and curtains whose tie-backs would have passed as epaulettes on the parade uniforms of a South American Junta. In return for its stubbornness this floor of rooms seemed to have been sectioned into shoe-box sized compartments and divided again to provide each with a matchbox sized en suite.
“Chuh” Vernon grumbled miserably as he cautiously inserted his head into the tiny space to find the sink, “there’s not enough room to do a ‘number two’ in there, only a ‘one and a third’.”
Though he was shattered from the drive up from Suffolk, Vernon found sleep evaded him and contrarily he wished for the fires of Africa he had spurned not so long ago. Though it sounded unlike both English and Bemba, Nsansa’s response to his speculative caress clearly translated as ‘Get some rest’. Counting sheep achieved next to nothing and eventually Vernon fell asleep counting the setbacks he’d experienced since meeting Tarkey in the Woolpack and anticipating what it was going to cost him.
They rose the next morning anticipating the fortifying late-starter’s breakfast they’d negotiated; according to the website this was ‘legendary’.
“What’s the view like?” asked Nsansa somewhat wedged into the bijou bathroomette.
Vernon swept back the industrial-grade velvet curtains and gasped melodramatically in appreciation.
“Y’get a g’d view of monumental Sco-tland” he intoned in his best Scottish accent.
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