A kettle whistle goes on a stove on the fourth floor each day at 7 a.m., 11 a.m., 1 p.m. and then again at 3 p.m. Mince and tatties are cooked on a Thursday, it makes the building smell bad. Tatties are potatoes. Aye, means yes. Noh, means no. I dinnae ken, means – I’m so terribly sorry I don’t have the slightest idea what you are talking about. I had no idea they didn’t speak English here! Unless they are posh, the posh people speak English with an Edinburgh burr. The accent is softer in Edinburgh city centre than it is out of town. I went out there last week and I didn’t understand a single thing said the entire time, I kept nodding and hoped I hadn’t gotten myself into illegal gains of any kind. It is fish on Fridays. I stay out that day. I tried haggis. They store it in the stomach of a sheep. I have no idea what’s in it but it’s spicy and good. Everything smells of smoke in this city. Even my pants. Since the winter kicked in I find the woodsmoke smell comforting, I love building fires. I love wearing scarfs. I love closing the door on night-time and putting a lamp on and sitting down in a warm glow to write to you, or to think, or read. Mind you, it’s still so cold each morning my fingers are numb. There is a woman in the stair (that’s what they call living in the building here she is in the stair – means she lives here in this building and she does not in fact live in the stair but in her apartment), anyway, this woman – she fucks like a guinea pig. Or, so her husband likes to roar when he has had too much to drink! None of us can quite look her in the eye. What’s really worrying is that her husband seems to know what guinea pigs fuck like. There is a child in the apartment above me who rolls marbles across the floor after school, the floors are wooden and it drives me crazy. I want to go up there and poke that kid’s eyes out. It is not at all grown up of me I know. The child has a bath in a tin tub in front of the fire on a Monday and his mother doesn’t like him, neither do I. I did feel bad when I saw her marching him down the street though, face pinched, hand clutched, dragging him too fast into his future so he’ll just leave home and she can be miserable on her own again. I left some new marbles outside his door after that. These buildings tell their stories – in sound – like a well-oiled clock. Noises are passed from floor to floor like notes passed in school to inform tenants of each other’s indiscretions, inabilities, or occasional talents. The hula-hoop girl in 6F6 thuds with her feet for an hour every day because she is keeping six hoops going, her waist is so slim I want to dance with her whenever she walks by.