Lesser Feasts

By the time I remembered I was supposed to sign up for worship at Old St Paul's, I was too late, so this morning I went to the Cathedral. It's my last Sunday in Edinburgh (for now). Tomorrow I take the train down to London; on Tuesday I fly home. So today is about getting ready to leave, taking care of unfinished business, and taking stock. The first bit of unfinished business was a print in the window of one of the galleries in Stockbridge that I had decided to buy. So after the service I walked down to Stockbridge. Ah, the Stockbridge Market is open. There's nothing in the fridge; maybe I'll find something I want for lunch. And behold! a booth selling Scotch eggs. I had just  been thinking that I hadn't had a single Scotch egg the whole time I've been here. That's lunch sorted. And then there was a bakery stall, where I found a piece of cake that surely could not be as delicious as it looked, but the experiment seemed worth conducting. Then on to the galle

My time in Edinburgh is drawing to a close, so I'm beginning to wrap things up. Yesterday I gave my research talk to the Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities -- quite a different experience from the first two times, since it was all disembodied. I was very careful to make the talk accessible to a broad audience of humanities folks, which is not easy for a fairly technical subject that requires a good bit of background to motivate it. Judging by the comments and questions, I think I succeeded, though at the expense of annoying the one other philosopher in the group, who clearly wanted a technical talk on the metaphysics of substances, powers, and dispositions, instead of the general-audience talk on virtues and the good life that I had so carefully prepared. (This particular philosopher practices that version of philosophy-as-blood-sport that I associate in particular with, well, her department, of which I used to be a member.) After my talk I turned in the keys to my of

I honestly had not known until a few days ago that Edinburgh, like so many other cities, is traditionally said to be built on seven hills. Thanks to this video , I learned that I had already walked up four of them. One walks up Castle Rock in the normal course of touristy things. I've been on Calton Hill any number of times, most memorably after the early-morning Easter Vigil at Old St Paul's a few years ago, when I joined the choir for their traditional singing of the Hallelujah Chorus on the National Monument (albeit in C, because who has those notes at that hour?). I've posted here about my occasional outings to Arthur's Seat. And this past weekend I went up Craiglockhart Hill. Having put in a particularly good day of work yesterday -- though honestly I still don't know whether my brilliant set piece about sins ex certa malitia  in Aquinas and Scotus is actually any good, or just one of those cases of my typing outrunning my thinking -- I decided that this after