Edinburgh's Princes Street Gardens on a Friday in August. It is the hugely popular Edinburgh International Festival and the alternative Fringe Festival where the city tries to accommodate vast numbers of tourists for a month-long festival of music, drama and art.
It was a sunny day, something quite rare in Scotland and I was sitting on a park bench, close to the Scott Monument. I was people watching, trying to guess what kind of lives these people walking by had. I was eating my lunch, a delicious Marks and Spencer sandwich and drinking a bottle of carbonated blood-orange water. I was at peace with the world.
I was listening to the bagpipes being played in the distance. Some Chinese music was also being played by three musicians on the grass at the bottom of the hill. Entertainers were drawing a crowd at the end of the path, near the Mound. I watched a woman draw a henna tattoo on a man's arm. I could see the crowds gathering to listen to a comedienne. The gardens were buzzing with atmosphere and music. It was colourful and exciting and a great place to spend a warm afternoon. I shut my eyes, dreaming and taking in all the sounds.
I was startled from my pleasant thoughts by the shouting on my right. In an instant, I could see a man shouting at another man who was running straight towards me, pushing people out of his way. He had what looked like a bag in his hand. A thief. Without thinking, I leaped off the bench and slammed right into him, knocking him to the ground. He dropped the bag which I immediately picked up. He wriggled about on the ground but I was bigger and used my weight to hold him down. The owner of the bag caught up and held out his hand to thank me. In that instant, the thief pulled out a knife and lunged at me, knocking me off balance. His knife ripped right through my jacket, just missing my chest. I got angry. I twisted his arm, he yelled in pain and dropped the knife. I could see a crowd had formed around us, hoping for a closer look. The crowd separated to allow two police officers through. I released the thief and the police put him in handcuffs.
The crowd had quickly moved on after the entertainment had finished and the police had removed the prisoner, leaving me and the man who had his bag stolen giving our details to the police. The man, who introduced himself as Alec, couldn't stop thanking me. 'What a brave selfless action, you sir, are a hero,' he gushed as he shook my hand again and again.
Now that the action had died down, I just realised that my trousers were wet, my bottle of water must have spilled over my front as I leaped off the bench. Wet trousers and a cut jacket, it could have been a lot worse. I felt myself shaking a little, delayed shock probably.
I looked at Alec. He was maybe a couple of years older than me, mid-forties, handsome, similar height and build to me. He had more hair than me though, he hadn't started to lose any hair yet, unlike me who needs to shave my hair to hide the bald patches. He was smartly dressed in brown trousers, yellow shirt with a cravat and a light brown jacket. He spoke with an American accent.
Once we had finished with the police, he insisted I come back to his hotel to sort myself out. He said he would send out for new clothes and get them delivered to his room. I wasn't looking for any fuss at all. I just acted instinctively. My trousers would be dry soon enough with the sunshine. I politely declined, telling him it didn't matter. He shook my hand again, insisting that it was the least he could do. I warmed to the guy, he seemed genuinely grateful. He was also quite nice looking for someone in their forties, I had noticed that, and his cute smile.
He insisted and I thought, why not? This is one of these incidents that life randomly throws at you, whether you are prepared for it or not. What's the odds of sitting on that bench, at that particular moment in time? Fate had cast her runes and I either went with the flow or against the flow. Much easier going with the flow. I accepted his invitation. 'Come this way,' he said as he walked off.
I would never have guessed he was staying in the Balmoral Hotel. THE Balmoral Hotel. It's THE poshest hotel in Edinburgh, very expensive and very nice indeed. I stood outside the main entrance, wondering if Alec was joking. Was he really staying here? He took my arm and led me up the steps. A man in a kilt nodded as he opened the door for us. I had never been in the Balmoral Hotel before. I had passed it many times on the bus but never had the opportunity to go in. We walked through the fantastic reception area and he picked up his keycard. I looked around, I was awestruck. 'Bit of a walk,' he said as we made for the elaborate staircase. I followed him as he led the way up the stairs to his room. He unlocked it and invited me in.
This wasn't a room; it was a suite. A suite that looked west along Princes Street. My God, it's beautiful. He went to the drinks cabinet and poured me an Islay Malt. Lagavulin, sixteen years old, a fine malt whisky. I needed something to calm my nerves, I was still shaking. I gratefully took the whisky and took a generous sip. I enjoyed the heat from the whisky as I swallowed it.
Alec picked up the telephone and I could hear him giving instructions for new clothes for me. Gosh, he's got the money to stay here and order clothes from his room, as if it's a perfectly normal thing to do. George Street was just up the road a little, there was nothing to stop us walking into a shop and buying clothes properly. He replenished my glass and sat down. 'An hour, they assured me, and your clothes will be delivered here.'
Alec started telling me more about himself. He was from Boston and had a chain of fast food restaurants in many states over the pond. He was in Edinburgh for the Festival and to look up old friends in the city. He was on his own. I looked at him, wondering why he would be here, in this beautiful hotel, on his own. He didn't elaborate further.
I told him more about myself, I'm a Cost Accountant, divorced, consider myself gay and on my own. He replenished my glass again. Alec smiled when I told him I was gay. He leaned forward, 'So am I,' he told me, smiling again at me. 'God, where is this going?' I asked myself.
All of a sudden, he remembered why we were here. He insisted that I should take my wet trousers off. He also insisted that I have a bath and went off to run it. 'A hot bath and a good malt and you'll be fine,' he informed me. I stood there, wondering what to do. Here was I, in one of the top suites in the best hotel in Edinburgh being asked to remove my trousers, by someone who looks and sounds like a millionaire. This was not an ordinary day.
