Farewell to Scotland.

After a night in a wee Scottish town that started with one of the letters of the alphabet, we headed out for our last day in Scotland. A surprisingly good sleep on the main road and near the pub, and once I had ripped the soul out of the noisy clock on the wall. 

A standard bed and breakfast, breakfast with the hero once more being a pastry filled with choc chips.

In our last battle between car gps and Google maps, Google won out, depositing us on the front steps of Avis by 10am.

As I feared, the walk to Edinburgh Waverley station was mainly uphill, part cobble stone, but after 3 weeks of mountain and stair climbing, it wasn't too bad.

2 pasties and 4 hours later we were in London. The Harry Potter luggage trolley at platform 9 3/4  at King's Cross station was easy to find. It was surrounded by a million people.

We declined a one hour wait and headed to Wimbledon. We had promised to cook dinner for Jeremy and Claire, who were coming in from Denmark, so we mosied on up the street to our favourite supermarket from the past. Morrison's closed at 5pm. Tesco closed at 5pm. It's Sunday. Luckily we stumbled on an open shop and garlic lemon chicken was the result. 

A good sleep only interrupted by meowing cats once. (Editor: I was disturbed twice)