Unused to running late, I was full of apologies when we finally pulled up the gravel drive of the White House in Hartburn. The cyclist was waiting, leaning against the dining room window with his white bike. I learnt later that the woman beside him was his wife.

They both approached us, followed by a small group of people that I half-recognised. It wasn’t obvious until we came face-to-face that their bodies and clothes held no colour. It was as if they had stepped out of an old black and white film into our coloured world. When they started introducing themselves as members of Blipfoto I understood: their lack of colour matched the livery of the Blipfoto web site. They all seemed pretty friendly, but when they all started to sing I had to make my escape back to Edinburgh.

I struggled up Leith Walk. I couldn’t understand why the street was littered with mattresses, nor why I could not see. Had they just forgotten to switch the street lights on, or had I gone blind? And where was TPR?