Got bacon sandwich. Wandered crags to get away from people. It worked.
Walked back from the Hollyrood end (if I'm not careful, this excercise is going to become a habit), got food and booze and picked up
Left there much later, wandered homewards and thought "fuck this, I'm off to the Mission". So off I did go. And lo, I did dance until I couldn't breathe right. Which is good, because it proves I'm not turning into one of those superfit freaks that I'm so worried about. I can still drink and smoke with the best of them.
Now, I'm fucking tired, my legs hurt, and I want to sleep more than I want to rant. Which is good.