Last night
The summer solstice is a strange time in Edinburgh.
The sun doesn't set until about a quarter past eleven and it rises around four thirty. The dogs bark more than usual, the birds are hyperactive, the weather changes rapidly during the day and everyone is out enjoying the nightlife. Going out is the pastime of choice in Edinburgh year round; the summer solstice exaggerates this trend enormously.
Last night was actually the day after the solstice. It was a strange night indeed.
I went for a swim. The Commonwealth Pool in Edinburgh was built to accomodate the Commonwealth Games back in 1976 or so. It's the only 50 meter pool in Edinburgh. I love swimming, and it's worth the three mile walk to get to the pool just to be able to swim in a real 50 meter pool.
The walk there was uneventful and so was the swim.
The walk home started off normally enough: walked home, got to Blockbuster and decided to try and rent Requiem for a Dream and give the movie that has such critical acclaim from family members a viewing. Couldn't find it, picked up The Missing and went to get some food from the new Peckham's that opened on Nicholson Street.
With my Dunsyre Blue and ration of Wiescze in hand, I headed for home.
About fifty yards down the road, I hear an alarm. It's coming from a shop. Peering inside, I can see that the drawers to the cash machine are open. The door doesn't appear to be jimmied so, with a shoulder shrug, I walk on. Two doors down, same thing. "Huh, this is weird." I think. Two doors down, yet another shop is ringing loudly, the door locked and the cash drawers empty and open. That's too weird. I call the cops.
Four policemen arrive, ask me if I'm a tourist (I hate that), ask me where I live and then try to control a snigger when I answer, as if I wasn't well dressed enough to actually live on Fettes Row. Then they sneer every time I adress a police officer as "Sir."
Fine. They take my name and number and say, "We'll call you if we need you." They make a show of looking inside and jiggling the handle and then I left and went home.
On my way home, I pass two more shops with their alarms going off. In one of them, a McColl's, there's a girl talking on a mobile phone inside.
I'm still thinking about the cops and how they really didn't take me seriously when I hear my name. I spin around and see...a homeless guy. Who recognizes me. From three years ago.
Three years ago I was walking home from work and saw him sitting exactly where he's sitting now. I sat down next to him in my suit and power tie and pulled out my laptop and was typing away, chatting occasionally on my mobile phone, sipping a low-fat, no foam, decafe latte and listening to his story, for company, while people stared. It was refreshing.
Anyway, he says: "Come see this picture of my son!" and I wander over.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out...a Nokia Communicator. On it, he's got some full motion video of him playing with his son in a gorgeous house somewhere in Fife. Then he pulls out a laminated wallet-sized picture of his son. He pulls it out of a wallet, not surprisingly. As he does, I catch a glimpse of a gold card.
He doesn't ask me for anything, just tells me more of the story of his life. This guy is better off than I am! He just lives on the streets for some strange reason, and spends a lot of time begging. Very weird.
Anyway, that was my night.
Comments
That is quite strange. Are you sure these things were his and not . . . somone else's? Very strange, indeed, the whole evening.
Posted by: Maman | June 23, 2004 8:28 PM
Oh, I'm sure. It's funny, you know, he's harmless.
Brutally honest about himself. Chances to embellish to impress he leaves out. I'd say he suffers a bit from exposure, and he definitely lives out of doors an awful lot, but not all the time.
His pack is always impeccably clean and militarily tidy. It's an almost new British Army issue pack.
He has a Canadian Army issue coat, very nice, similar to the one we got in the Corps, except OD green instead of cammie, and an army blanket.
It's all always clean.
He's good at what he does, too. He's got a schtick that works - he makes everyone smile. It's nifty. He sizes up someone or a group of people and pretty much has them figured out in just a glance. He'll yell something out and usually get a response - usually just a flashed smile, a bit embarassed, as if it was socially unacceptable to find a bum funny.
He never asks for anything, although he's got his cup out like the rest, with his little "Hungry and Homeless" sign.
A lot of bums, they'll ask for change, panhandle. Not this guy.
I liked this guy, almost instinctively. I think many of the folks do. Many of the folks who live near that corner know him.
His name is Bj, which also endears him to me.
Posted by: Nathan Dornbrook | June 23, 2004 9:17 PM
Hey Nathan,
Strange question, but where did you see this guy? I bumped into an amazingly interesting, friendly beggar when I was there in 98, and chatted for a long time with him. Same clean green army jacket. He had a dog he loved that his mom took care of sometimes, and a nice flat. He would pass the time by making drawings on the sidewalk using the blue tips of matches as coloring sticks.
Maybe it was the same guy.
Posted by: Violetta | June 29, 2004 2:54 PM
Ooh, ooh! I think this is the guy! Do you know WHERE his flat was? The guy I'm thinking of had a flat in Fife somewhere, Kinross I think.
Posted by: Nathan Dornbrook | June 30, 2004 7:36 AM
It's the same guy.
Posted by: v | July 1, 2004 5:54 AM
Was he on a bridge? I just remembered the guy I met was sitting on a bridge connecting the two sides of the city.
Posted by: v | July 1, 2004 5:54 AM