I was sitting on the concrete floor at Waverley Station, leaning against a plate glass window, when X approached me.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded to know. “Shouldn’t you be at a conference in Norfolk?”

X lifted me from the ground and attempted to give me a weak hug. His body felt very bony under his ghastly red chenille jumper.

“I had to escape from my nagging wife”, he replied. “I’ve always loved Edinburgh, so here I am.”

We stepped out from the railway station and walked up to George Street. At the far end of St Andrew Square we noticed an orange glare.

“Is that the Queen’s Hall on fire?” asked X.

“No, the Queen’s Hall is at the other end of town. That’s the Royal Bank of Scotland”, I replied.

We had nothing to offer the fire service so we headed out of town to spend the rest of the day in the sunshine on a beautiful two mile long sandy beach.