The scene is Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow at 8 pm on a Sunday evening. I am making my way to see a film about the impossibility of love between two men, one from Nablus (a city of some significance to the Samaritans, interestingly enough given this morning’s Gospel reading) and one from Tel Aviv. I’m in a hurry.

Interlocutor: Ahem!

Me: er, …

Interlocutor: Ahem, excuse me please Sir. Could you help me?

Me: er, I don’t know, what is it?

Interlocutor: Could you tell me the way to the nearest striptease bar establishment?

Me: No, I’m afraid I don’t think I can. I have to admit, I don’t know.

Interlocutor: Oh, I’m sorry for disturbing you. But please, …

Me: Yes?

Interlocutor: Who then could I ask?

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t know.

He wanders off and I hurry to the GFT.

Now, I ask you, do I look like a person who knows where the nearest strip joint is? Do I even look like someone who knows to whom this question should be directed?

I know I used to live above just such an establishement whilst I was pretending to be a residential student in the TISEC flat and pretending to learn something from studying at New College. But that was a long time ago.

And that was Edinburgh.