Once upon a time we lived in Scotland.
My very first visit was to the Edinburgh Festival just about nine months before our first was born. No, no, no! I was already pregnant but did not yet have confirmation. Honestly.
Roughly six years later we moved to Scotland and stayed there four years. That was a record that took a while to be broken.
I used to take the boys into Edinburgh occasionally, because it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Once I remember we went to meet their father who was in his Edinburgh office that day. I took the boys in on the train (great excitement) and then we would return all together in Daddy's car. Except that our wires got crossed and by the time I arrived, he had left and we had to turn around and go back. By train again. When we got off the train at our station I suddenly discovered I had only one boy. I was absolutely frantic. He eventually reappeared, 92.5 years later, hand in hand with a man he had found in the car park. If you are that man, thank you, thank you, thank you.
Another time we had a picnic in Princes Street gardens. I had carefully prepared sandwiches: I made the boys their favourites, and my own was to be prawns. The younger decided he would prefer mine. When he got to the last bite he asked what those pink round things were. "Prawns," I answered honestly. "I don't like those, you can have it and I'll have the cheese ones". So that was nice: I had the crust. It was a hungry day.
The final time we went was with another family of two boys of much the same age. We did all the sorts of things we thought young boys might like to do. They whined and moaned, All. Day. Long. It was a bitterly cold and windy day, of the sort that Edinburgh does best.
If you don't have small boys, Edinburgh is a lovely place. Really it is.
The pictures are scans of postcards I have and one in particular has been marked. No doubt I could remove the marks if I had, and knew how to use, photo editing software.