There's a place in Scotland that has dominated the landscape of my childhood, much as it does

the skyline of the city of Edinburgh. Having risen 350 million years ago, long before

such periods of time were expressed in our numbers, longer in fact than some believe

the age of the universe itself to be, Arthur's seat sits today as a duel in the Scottish

capital. Having first arisen due to volcanic activity, then later being carved by a glacier,

it is of course completely and utterly disinterested in the whims of humankind. Over the years,

however, it has been gradually interwoven with many of its follies. Just a cursory glance

at any map of its surface will reveal our attempts to tame it and claim it for our own.

Names tattooed across its steep crags and valleys and the surrounding undulations of

Holyrood Park. There on each and every day of the year, walkers can be found, traipsing

over haggis no, gutted haddie, or hunter's bog. On the southern edge you'll find the

wells are weary, a former harp of folk life and tradition. It was there in the 18th century

that many would come to socialize and wash their clothes, until those with the wealth

to avoid such indignities declared that an improper sight through a royal park.

And to the west, the high ridges of Salisbury crags, where many a duel was fought in the

16th and 17th centuries. It was here too in 1770 at the foot of the crags that relatives

attempted to bury the body of Mungo Campbell, an excise officer who had committed suicide

after being convicted of murdering a local Earl. His burial was interrupted by a local

mob angered by the Earl's death. Seizing the body, they proceeded to haul it to the

top of the crags, before throwing it back over the edge. Campbell's bashed and broken

body was eventually gathered by his family, and taken to be buried at sea.

Turning up from St Margaret's lock on the meadow bank side, you'll find yourself approaching

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