Or is it Edinburghers? Or Edinburgians?
After the rather provincial feel of Sheffield it's nice to walk the streets and find interesting people to spy on again. Fashionistas, part-time Burlesque queens, suited-and-booted office cat-walkers, elegant older ladies, happy-go-lucky but ever so fashion-conscious students, all of them parade themselves in front of my lense on Friday afternoon. I often wish I had a pair of those spy glasses, where you just go 'click' in your pocket and get a shot of what - or who - you're looking at. You can actually buy them quite easily now, but the resolution is pitiful, making them useless for anything other than actual spying. I am left with following people around and making a fool out of myself. My theory with photographing people is: no-one ever thinks they're important enough to be photographed, so just go for it. Nine out of ten times they will look back to see what monument or architectural quirk you were pointing at. One out of ten times you have to run fast, but hey, what is life without a bit of risk.
A princes at Princes Str Gardens.
A gentleman with the North Bridge.
Catching up in front of the Scottish National Gallery.
Rush-hour bus queue at Princes Street.
The fairy-tale city.
Possibly a mass case of spinach-stuck-in-teeth syndrome.
