Although the sun shines the chilled wind rushes down westerly facing streets. It rips the delicate pink and white petals from the spring blossom trees in St Cuthbert's church yard. The homeless man I regularly see on Lothian Road struggles to keep his many rucksacks in check. His matted long beard and hair is lifted and tossed by the invisible force of nature.
An enormous digital screen has been erected in Festival Square. The 24 hour feed from the BBC glaring out the news on a massive scale. It's also to watch sports events on the balmy summer evenings. At each junction cars, pedestrians and cyclists fight for right way. Serious glares are cast at those that venture forward out of turn.
Someone has cleaned the graffiti off the main door of my building, another blank canvas for the street artist, I wonder how long it will stay clean for this time. As I pass along the corridors up to the third floor I hear snippets from my neighbours lives, television, radios, laughter and conversation.
Inside the flat the heating has come on reflecting the chill outside even though we're well in to May now. Monsieur Vin is sitting at his desk in the study, deep in his world of creativity and plotting.
"What's for dinner?" I ask.
"Gnocchi, with a creamy tomato sauce."
I make my way to back of the walk in wardrobe and scan the bottles on offer. I settle on the Pouilly Fume, a birthday present from my boss.
It's pale straw yellow, the glass is covered in tiny bubbles, some legs too. Aromas of white fruits and apricot, a little savoury but not as much as some NZ Sauvignon Blanc's.
Dry, medium/full bodied, it's well balanced and has great length.
A great wine that I could have with or without food.