One of Carole’s secret skills is to carry with her no sense of direction whatsoever.
When she went to Venice a couple of years ago she got completely lost in a maze of narrow streets and found her way back to her hotel more by luck than management, which meant that I missed out on being one of those concerned partners who are flown out to places where loved ones go missing. So that has to stay on my bucket list for a bit longer.
I can understand her getting lost in Venice though, because it was her first time there.
Edinburgh, on the other hand, is a place we have been many times. Many, many times. We have walked around most of it. And yet it still appears to be a mystery to her in every way.
Even if we’ve walked the same route in the last 24 hours.
We’d head off somewhere and within minutes Carole would be veering off somewhere. The most commonly uttered phrase as we negotiate the city is “where are you going?” as I try and work out the logic behind her directions.
She can, however, with unfailing accuracy, find the statue of Greyfriar’s Bobby.
She bloody loves that thing. It draws her, like a magnet, so that she can rub his shiny little nose and make a wish that she might just get a little bit better at finding her way about…
… but even wishes have limitations.