As Predicted...

Our Hostel lies in the shadow of Edinbrugh castle, which is perched on a rocky outcropping of the hill in front of us. With it's stony exterior looming at us, lit up for the tourists, it was an obvious choice for a place to go for a walk the other night after dinner.

It was around ten at night by the time we summited the hill, so the Castle was closed. We walked across the short drawbridge, now fixed permently in place, and admired the plaques set into the main arch way. One for Sir. Robert the Bruce and the other for William Wallace, of braveheart fame (Freeeeeddddom!).

Suddenly a crashing sound echoed out from the huge doors in front of us. Shannon sqeaked in fear and surprise, and I prepeard myslef for the type of hand to hand combat that years of hollywood movies had tough me always ocured outside of Scotish castles and New York pizza places.

Instead of the expected hordes of Ninjas in full Scottish kilts, a voice from behind the door said: "Hello!."

Then I spotted the face pearing out from a small barred window. The voice and the face turned out to belong to a young british soldiar assigned to guard the castle at night. He informed us that teams of six spent a week guarding the castle at night in five hour shifts. The noise we herd was him throwing the dead bolt on the door back and forth, he had been waiting pationently for us to enter his "strike Zone". Capt. Castle (we never did get his name)happily told us tales of the many people who he had frighted over the week. One lady from Texas holds the current alltitude record ater shooting ten ft. in the air at the sound of the bolt.

The conversation soon turned into the tradtional swapping of drinking stories, and before long we had killed over an hour for the greatfull Castle guard.

Next time on thelastspot: The Great Buskers Riot of 2006