IN OTHER NEWS: Last night was the private view (or "PV" as the smooth operators call it) for the December fine sales. I descended from my fourth floor valuations cocoon to sip free wine and stalk the canape waitress around the first floor sale room. It was good fun; about 250 people showed up to do basically the same thing I did, though they did an excellent job of pretending to look at the items up for sale. Several funny things happened; particularly the Ikea clothes racks collapsing one after another under the weight of so many fine coats, but the prize winner was the little old lady who tried to steal a wheel of brie by placing it under her hat. A whole wheel! I also talked to a very intoxicated man whom Iain has dubbed "the last bastion of pure Englishness" about what it was like to deal antiques during WWII. He told me a funny story about finding an original copy of Ruskin in a tiny cottage in Pittenweem, and when he went to consign it his car blew up "because of the damn Germans." As I was placing that gentleman in a cab, David Jones arrived from Cupar and we shut the place down discussing the merits of wych elm dining chairs. Ah, furniture, an addiction undying!
I'd like to say a word or two about the Christmas spirit and that is, don't worry about Edinburgh, we've got it covered. On my way to and from work I would say I walk underneath approximately 4.8 million christmas lights. It's very festive. Princes Street Gardens, the lovely rolling park in the middle of town, has been crammed to bursting with a get-up that puts the NC State Fair to shame. There are fair rides, a German market and an ice skating rink. We tried to go ice skating on Sunday but were understandably deterred by the hoardes of inexperienced skaters with razor-sharp blades strapped to their uncontrollable feet.
In the merry spirit of the season I've taken a few photos around town to share with you, including this one of my work place, since very few of you have actually seen it:
I should say, for the record, that Iain's office is in the basement and not underneath a BMW. The first four floors are salerooms and at the moment it's chockablock with some mighty fine antiques. Sadly they will be mostly sold by the end of the week, but I will always be thankful for the little time we had together.
I should say, for the record, that Iain's office is in the basement and not underneath a BMW. The first four floors are salerooms and at the moment it's chockablock with some mighty fine antiques. Sadly they will be mostly sold by the end of the week, but I will always be thankful for the little time we had together. Here is the Princes Street Gardens she-bang. Check out that FERRIS WHEEL.
See the ice skating rink? Go there and you have a good chance of having one or more fingers sliced off. Give the Scots some skates and they go crazy!This was taken as I left work today, looking down George Street from the office:
As my dad says, Merry Christmas Dammit. 
This rather inviting place is called The Dome, and it is a particularly fabulous pub just down the way from work. I'm pretty sure they pipe in the smell of cinnamon, because for real, it is the best smelling pub I've ever been to. It's like Bath and Body Works in there. Makes me want a christmas cookie something fierce. Here is what the inside looks like, just imagine the cinnamon smell and you're there: 
Unlike my former neighbors, I wouldn't mind if they left their lights up all year. And on a completely unrelated note, THIS glorious shop front is my favorite shop front in the whole world. Who needs Christmas lights when you have A THIRD EYE:
