We had planned to go out tonight to the torchlit procession which launches Edinburgh's Hogmanay , a terribly well organised mildly drunken revelry in which 10,000 people march through the city streets holding aloft flaming torches, led by The Shetland's Up Helly Aa Viking hordes.
Yes, that's right, in America you are not allowed to jaywalk sober (I have been huckled for the aforementioned strut by the Santa Monica cops, I'll tell you about that later) but in Scotland you can indeed be exceedingly squiffy and strut down the cobbled High Street carrying aloft primal fire.
The problem is, it's raining. Rain is my Moriarty, which can be a bit tricky living round these parts, even Sherlock Holmes didn't have to face his arch-enemy on a daily basis. So a cosy night in, curled up in front of the fire beckons.
Last week we went out with mum to The Balmoral Hotel, to visit the newly refurbished 'Palm Court'.
The designer, Olga Polizzi has clearly been ogling my Pinterest interior board; pea green sofas, my favourite en grisaille wallpaper, I'm putting my money on this one being Zuber rather than De Gournay (anyone?) - soaring palm trees and Bollinger on tap but Olga, where's the pink flamingo?
Never mind, you have still conjured up the most beautiful public room in Scotland. Afternoon tea at the Balmoral has always been a festive delight, for where else are scones and clotted cream accompanied by a harpist playing in the Heavens, well, an upper gallery?
Now that the surroundings are truly celestial, I'd quite happily lounge around here sipping champagne for eternity.
I wore this
Look at the palms and the wallpaper, I am ready to move in.
Mum sporting Pantone's radiant orchid - the colour for 2014.
we luffed him
Everyone in this bridal party was devastatingly good looking.
Mum used to be the same height as me and a very robust size 16, now the wee thing is the height of nonsense.
If I loved the room with all of my heart, my mum who was having a very frail day, gave her's away to the staff; in particular, to one very attentive young waiter who was rewarded for his diligence by a declaration of love. Yes, my 92 year old mother announced in a crowded room: "I love you", to the chap above seen flamboyantly pouring our tea. I turned crimson and almost choked on my Bollinger while simultaneously hissing: 'Mum, shhh." The waiter never missed a beat, he looked down at her and said: ' "Well, I love you too" and of course that made me think, 'Well now I adore you." Yes, there was a lot of love in the room that day and not just for the soft furnishings.