Sotto voce means intentionally lowering one’s voice for emphasis. The speaker gives the impression of uttering involuntarily a truth which may surprise, I love it…and have visions of various comics dressed in women’s clothing, mouthing words and rolling their eyes when bad mouthing a friend or referring to the gynaecologist.

It was not thus with John and I. We nearly came to blows as I lowered my tones and whispered some observation to him on the escalator in Frasers. I was referring to the nearly naked models strategically placed at the top of each floor obviously educating the public and granny generation how to wear itsy bitsy g-strings. He replied in a big loud voice, ‘how do you expect me to hear what you say if you whisper like that?’ the woman ahead of me turned around and looked at me very accusingly…I was mortified, and then to make things worse I was trapped by an old lady with a zimmer and John was trying to make me overtake her…that was when I lost it…and forgot all about sotto voce, and said VERY loudly, ‘what do you expect me to do…mow her down?’

Time for lunch.

Edinburgh on Saturday afternoon is vile…all the Fifers come marching over the bridge and all the folk from outlying fields and villages come and hog the pavements, the whole thing is a nightmare. We did persevere as we have to buy stuff to ‘dress’ the two bedrooms in the flat we are trying to sell. We successfully bought duvets and what not, nearly killing the tiny lady in charge of bed linen. She was only a little over a metre in height. Imagine the shame I felt when I pulled out a valence and the whole collection rained down on her head.

Time to move on.

Fell madly in love with a red duffle coat. So beautifully cut and cosy and so perfect. Sigh.

We moved on.

Today it is raining, and it is poppy day. I was chopping onions whilst listening to the radio and I’m not sure if it was the onions or the poem that made me cry. It was read in between verses of ‘Abide with me’. The poem is called Reconciliation by Siegfried Sassoon, and written here in Edinburgh in November 1918.

When you are standing at your hero’s grave,             
Or near some homeless village where he died,
Remember, through your heart’s rekindling pride,
The German soldiers who were loyal and brave.

Men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done;
And you have nourished hatred harsh and blind.
But in that Golgotha perhaps you’ll find
The mothers of the men who killed your son.  

And finally a thought to Burma, and the lady who represents so much to those people. She is free at last, and as I watched her battle to escape the crowds threatening to swamp her, I remembered our trip there a few years ago.

The hushed whispers in sotto voce by tour guides afraid to voice their political views, the wonderful friendliness of people we met, and Mr Diamond who perhaps changed our lives forever.

He brought it home to us in a dingy restaurant in Mandalay, that no matter how many people you may love in the world, or what may be important in another place, all that matters is NOW. You must live for now, forget the past and the future, treasure the life and the one you are with.

I think I should be treasured…with a lovely red duffle coat!