Memories of Edinburgh

People think that Edinburgh is a lovely old historic city,
With cobbled streets, elegant squares and olde Scottishe high tea-rooms,
(usually jampacked with rubbernecking tourists from the US of A
eager to check out their genealogical connections with Braveheart
and enjoying being ripped off by their faux-tartan wearing hosts).
But beware all of ye: there is another side to this fine Celtic city,
Thus, lend me your bonnie wee lugs and ye will ken it good and proper:
The cold Edinburgh night can cover many a terrible experience,
Enough to send the fear of Auld Reekie right up your kilt.

I was wandering through Princes Street Gardens one summer evening,
Pushing my obese wheelchair-bound fourth cousin, fair Donaldina McRoss,
On one of our jaunts to enjoy the vomit-splattered daffs on the Mount,
When a gang of haggis-munching teen actors dressed as Highland cattle
(rehearsing for a mimed version of Verdi's tuneful opera Macbeth,
for the benefit of the dear blind, deaf and dumb of the city)
Poured down Waverley Steps and grabbed Donaldina's fat hairless body,
Then whisked her off for a mindless orgy of illicit sex and heavy ale
In a disused Chinese chippie on the Leith Road. But, what could I do?

I saw little point in pursuit, mainly in case I caught them up;
In which event I might be subject to unwanted brutality
And unintelligible verbal abuse of the "Trainspotting" variety.
If I must be honest, I was a bit tired of her constant Caithness chatter,
On and on she'd moan about the Highland clearances and other
Petty grievances against the wicked Sassenachs.
So I popped into that nice hotel on top of Waverley station
And chatted up a rather attractive prostitute in the bar.
I have to say she provided excellent value for money
And I would thoroughly recommend her to you one and all.
There's also a very friendly gay bar in Rose Street
For those of you who are of a somewhat different bent
And who are interested in Arthur's Seat for sodomitic reasons.