Dietary problems

George cross (or at least a little upset)

I enjoyed a pleasant Saturday afternoon in the Kings Rd doing a bit of shopping in that near-deserted thoroughfare. The bars were jammed to overflowing with ocassionally roaring and singing England fans. I am not one of those Scottish people who support anyone that England is playing, I am just someone who prefers, when possible, to shop without it getting too physical. It was quite interesting; the community feeling. I might be sampling the quality of a Comme des garcons shirt one minute but it would not be long before a taxi driver would ask if I knew the latest score; there was an all pervasive sensation that something was going on.

Eventually we decided to go for something to eat. When we got to the Big Easy, it was chokka but I realised that there would be a significant exodus in only a few minutes when I spotted that the game had reached the penalty stage. We considered the menu on the wall outside and in due course a particularly big sigh emanated from within and the building disgorged its unhappy occupants on to the pavement.

I felt vaguely guilty that the reason we were able to saunter in and enjoy a tasty burger was that so many had left, gutted.