Ecce Romani!

Walking through Edinburgh last night I was confronted with some deep and profound questions:

1. Why does Patisserie Valerie open so late?
2. Why didn't I check the website to make sure that my dance class actually started this week?
3. Who painted that Police Box purple?


Let's address these questions:

1. I'm obviously actually asking a deeper question, which is "Mmmmmmm. Cake." Not a question? You, sir, are an idiot.

I had the one in the middle for my birthday this year. Best. Gateau. Ever.

2. Rhetorical question. I don't expect an answer, but if I got one it would probably be: because you, ma'am, are an idiot. 

3. It would appear, from the evidence presented to me as I walked past, that it was a man dressed in surprisingly historical clothes, who looked awfully like Sir Walter Scott. Or a man in the high-visibility vest, which proclaimed in marker pen that his name was Stevie, who was talking to Sir Walter Scott.

I suspect time travel.

I have suspected time travel before.

I was pleased to be studying Latin at secondary school just in case I should ever happen to be forcibly time travelled to circa 1st to 4th century AD and had to make contact with the invaders in the Roman camp near my parents' house. I often rehearsed my first contact speech. It started with me proclaiming to the local tribespeople, "Ecce! Romani!". I'd even named myself: Antonia.

I am not even joking.

I also convinced myself that I had seen a legion of red and gold clad Roman centurions marching over the Malvern Hills. Another area, in which part of my family lived, that had Roman forts and other such activity. Coincidence? 11 year old self thought not.

Luckily, at university I encountered Andy Law, Richard Dawkins and Thomas Gilovic (author of How We Know What Isn't So), and such superstitious nonsense was put behind me.

Nevertheless, last night, when I saw the Doctor, dressed as Sir Walter Scott, with his companion Stevie, I did hover for a bit just to check that they weren't time travellers. They seemed to be discussing the dimensions and interior of the box. Perhaps they seemed a little confused that it was purple. Could this be a further malfunction of the cloaking technology? I'm pleased to report that my observations were inconclusive.

Boring evidence to the contrary? Probably fabricated. I declare that they might very well have been time travellers. All is well in the world.