The other week I met Lucky Star in Edinburgh. Not in some sort of 'Waa! What are you doing here?' sort of way but deliberately. And with forethought. But I still got lost.

Edinburgh is not my home, just somewhere I work but, when it emerged that Lucky Star was going to be coming to Edinburgh for a job interview I offered to buy her a pint. When it emerged that she would be applying for a job in the building where I work it became imperative that we go for a pint. Not that I normally need such excuses.

So there was much to-ing and fro-ing of messages, threads and emails. A date was clarified, journey options were suggested by many helpful voices and a hotel was booked. I began to scope out pubs. A very nice real ale pub by the name of Cloisters was found and some Orkney beer supped in the name of research. The location of the hotel was confirmed from its handy website.

So it was that I spent the evening wandering the centre of Edinburgh, killing time until Lucky Star should arrive. I wandered the length of Princes Street and back again and then up Lothian Road, keeping an eye on the time and any interesting pubs that may have appeared. I arrived outside the hotel in time for Lucky Star's arrival and let her know where I was. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. And eventually Ms Star phoned back to ask where I was.

'Outside, in the courtyard.'

'This hotel doesn't have a courtyard.'

'You are at the Big Chain Edinburgh?'

'The Edinburgh Capital yes.'

'Ahhhh!. I am at the Edinburgh City.'

'O!'

A hasty re-organising of the pub then saw me, somewhat hot and bothered, in a pub by the train station and much closer to the actual hotel. There we discussed the interview, the building where I work, meetups both big and small, the state of the Scottish rail system (good to my surprise) and the oddities of ex-pat living. It was a very enjoyable evening, ignoring my numptyness of earlier, and hopefully Lucky Star found it a useful distraction from her interview the next day.

And that is the story of how a website created by Douglas Adams and joined by myself *cough* years ago led to me hanging around outside hotel doors on a wet evening.

Next Time: Spring has sprung and yet the winter beer has yet to be bottled.

My Life as a Boozy Oaf Archive

Munchkin

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