Goodbye Rankeillor Street

In July I rented a room in a flat in the student centre of Edinburgh. Around the corner was a wine shop that was convenient for some, and two doors further along was a fish shop that was smelly for all. It was close to the Queen’s Hall and the place to go ceilidh dancing, and there was a grand view of the Salisbury Crags, where climbers hung on the long summer evenings. But the kitchen was always a mess and one flat-mate moved out with the telephone. Another was involved in a late-night inebriation scene for which you’ll need a password to read more. We also had a 24-hour panic when a workman in the flat below mistakenly turned off our water supply. But if there hadn’t been a water-cut, I wouldn’t have wandered down to Warrender Baths, a beautifully restored Victorian swimming pool from the 1800s with old-fashioned, arched changing booths, period clocks, and a rounded glass roof that I could see the evening sky through while I swam. When the doors closed at ten o’ clock I walked along to the ringing of bells from a Marchmont church, pausing with wide eyes as a fox dashed across Mansion House Road. It was a fair exchange for no water in the Rankeillor Street flat, and now that I’ve left it I don’t mind its bothers a bit.