Relaxation and romance

Feb 7 2010 by Steve Brown, Sunday Sun

AS Valentine’s Day looms, STEVE BROWN brings out his romantic side in Scotland’s capital city.

IN the distance, snow whitewashes the Pentland Hills and overhead, a seagull swoops narrowly by.

In between, Edinburgh’s nine-to-fivers – those who have ignored National Pull-a-Sickie Day – graft away in offices opposite. Offices opposite me. Me, swimming, in a rooftop pool. Swimming, in the snow.

Ah, February. Terrible month. Terrible when you’re the world’s worst romantic. Well, terrible for Wor Lass. Wor Lass, whose first gifts from me were a cork notice board. And a torch.

So it was with my cold, black heart in my mouth that – Valentine’s Rip-Off, sorry, Day imminent – I whisked her off to Auld Reekie for Visit Scotland’s "Winter White Romance"- themed break.

After three years together, give us three days together – in each other’s shadows, on each other’s toes – and it could all end in a homicide.

It certainly started pretty morbidly, my Sunday morning ruined when useless Scottish loser – as opposed to brilliant British hero – Andy Murray lost the Australian Open final.

So, though we travelled up in first-class style by train, I did not do so enamoured entirely with Bonny Scotland. My tune sharp changed.

Arriving at our five-star serviced apartment – The Knight Residence – their "Aphrodisiac Trail" provided us – well Wor Lass – with a single red rose, chocolates and champagne.

Better, and more significantly still, the excellently dutiful concierge had met the better half’s advance request for soya milk – she’s a coeliac, no dairy, wheat or gluten – and was instantly more prominent in her good books than I was.

As for the apartment, it was nicer than my flat, my personal favourite being a CD player in the lounge whose sound could be piped exclusively to the bathroom.

The downside? The only CD supplied was entitled Love Divine, The Complete Guide to Music for a Church Wedding. Which I swiftly hid from the missus.

Anyway, The Knight Residence is located ideally, tucked in behind Edinburgh Castle, just up from the Grassmarket, so we ambled into the latter and by fortune rather than design, happened upon Victoria Street’s Maison Bleue, a vertical labyrinth of a restaurant which happily cut the cream from Wor Lass’ risotto and served me a dish of African lamb which didn’t so much fall off the bone as leap off it, two-footed.

So a great start to our romantic recce. Monday morning, it got better. First, the lady got locked in the lavatory, and, gallant, attentive-type that I am, I rushed to free her. Right after I’d checked out the latest on Sky Sports News.