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This morning finds me in good spirits. It is a typical Edinburgh day, wet underfoot, rain is sparkling in a myriad of misshapen puddles and that ever elusive promise of a clear sky is in the air. The plethora of expanding charity shops explode with people into narrow streets like the old over packed suitcases which they sell, clearly somebody got something they didn't want this Christmas... or have the new year clear outs begun? I feel as if i have stepped out of time, i'm really in a Dickens or Austen novel, have I just strolled past Mr Darcy is Ebineezer Scrooge elbow deep in ties and brick-a-brack in Oxfam or Shelter?
The New Year has come and gone, Hogmanay a night of such promise passed knee deep in the sucking squelch of a mud encrusted aristocracy and finished in a strange bed in a foreign land.
But this morning as I meander along the quaint Georgian streets of my village within a city I hear my named beckoned from the across the way. I peer out from under the brim of my hat (unfortunately not a top hat for you can imagine - it would give me and extra 6 inches!) to recognise my fellow academical colleague the esteemed and learned gentleman and mentor Mr Wilson J Turkington, The Turk to his friends but I feel this feeble attempt at a nickname coined by a former pupils dare not do justice to a man of such presence.
He strides with unbridled confidence across the rain soaked cobbles, cars who dare to approach him swerve in terror of hitting such a man. A dashing gentleman of class, his waxed Barbour jacket patched at the elbows covers his mustard cords which tailor down to a beautiful pair of handmade brown brogues polished to a Brigadiers military perfection. Small perfect globules of water perch upon their patted toes. Before words can escape my mouth in greeting a confident and well practiced hand is firmly thrust towards me. 'The best of the New Year to you.' he declares, passion and honesty blazing from his eyes, and I genuinely belief he means it will his entire being...
...at that moment the New Year began for me, four days late, on a rain soaked street like a postcard form history but I felt it to the core of my soul.
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