It has been a few days of pure nostalgia for the Geordie Lip. I have waxed lyrical in the land of Sir Walter Scott and Country and Western in the old stomping ground of George Formby.
Last Wednesday saw me striding along Princes Street in Edinburgh thinking up Celtic witticisms and breathing in pure air from the hills round Lammermuir. I was getting ready to MC a bonding night for investing customers of a big German bank. The lads and lasses played darts on eight boards, supped steadily and were coached by Bob Anderson and Peter Manley. Above us twinkled delicate bratiches, and one could well imagine Robert Lewis Stevenson himself dancing a gavotte on the elegant boards of the Assembly Rooms.
Unicorn uniBlog - SCOT NOSH AND BRILLIANT BLACKPOOL - Sid Waddell
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