smokingboot

Oh dear, one had to come out. Right at the back so not a problem but dear god it was not a pretty thing! And it still had its 70s filling, grey and horrible. But the thing about those fillings was that once they were in situ, that's where they stayed forever, no breaking or crumbling away. This stuff was basically eternal mouth concrete, awful to look at but efficient.

It's a dreadful looking thing. I popped it under my pillow because among the many magical uses of teeth, they are supposed to bring prophetic dreams... Quite why they would be better at this once removed, as opposed to sitting in one's head surrounded by all their peers, is a mystery but hey.

All I dreamed of was an excellent party, lots of children and music there too. I was a merry idiot having a great time. There was a pool of something pink which had something in it occasionally blooping bubbles to the surface, but that was the nearest to any kind issue in the dream. There was a lot of music. W was there being very cute and funny as ever.

Into Edinburgh yesterday to get what is probably R's last present from me this Xmas, and enjoyed the craic; people are in a grand mood in town. Popped into St Giles Cathedral which is... strange. It was so dark as to render any reading of explanatory notices impossible, and the stained glass windows are almost muddy with dark colours and crowded detail, a far cry from the sparkling welcome of St Johns, or the pre-raphaelite charm of St Cuthberts down on Princes Street.

John Knox is buried here, but I can't hold any great regard for a man who, in a time of overwhelming misogyny, stood out for his particularly vehement version of it. His description of female rulers as unfit to govern, weak, incompetent, foolish and cruel, backfired somewhat when he sought Elizabeth's permission to travel through her realm, and his letter, which boils down to a wordy 'Er, well, obviously I didn't mean you, Your Majesty' is satisfyingly creepy and received the dismissal it deserved. I dismissed him too. They could bury the old goat in a public lavatory for all I care, as long as it's the mens.

I might have wandered into the Thistle Chapel with its bagpipe playing angels, who knows? Were the cathedral staff saving on fuel bills as they do with the Basilica in Venice, only to light up for a few hours in a sparkling show of magnificence? If so, missed it. Oh well.

There was a tiny chapel I loved the look of, but I could barely make it out. Maybe I need to come back to the place. At the very least it has a sense of occult type mystery; it would be a massive shame if the Knights Templar hadn't come here and set up a temple to Baphomet/Cthulhu somewhere in the vaults, or at the very least made a deal with the Masons and Illuminati to carve an Enochian crossword puzzle into the place. There's a story here, I know it. But with the streets full of the lights and crowds of Christmas, I simply couldn't connect into it at all. Maybe this is one for the January darks...