A parliament spokesman said: "Following a minor incident last week, Lothian and Borders Police erected barriers to ensure people [are] kept at a safe distance from the ponds. The parliament already has planned improvements to the pond edges in place and will discuss if any additional action needs to be taken."

That appeared in The Scotsman on March 2nd 2006.

The discussion of additional action has clearly been thorough since it has taken until October 2009 for the Parliament's Facilities Manager to be able to say in response to my recent complaint: "I am pleased to advise you that after a public procurement exercise (to ensure value for money) a contractor has been appointed to undertake additional perimeter security works. As part of these works there will no longer be a need to have these barriers in the ponds."

Security! Health and Safety's big brother. My heart sank as I visualised a screen of concrete blocks modelled on the WWII anti tank landing precautions that we still see on some of our beaches or possibly Gauntanamo type double fences topped with razor wire. Our very own green zone.

But reassurance came later: "Careful consideration has been given to the design to take account of the iconic status of the Parliament buildings."

That's all right then. When will it be done? - "..and be completed around mid March 2010." That's four years since the tourist stepped into the pond.

But didn't Gordon say last week that there are only 50 days left in which to save the planet? Best not give the job to MSPs then.

Doubtless I am not the only person who associates Marks & Spencer with floral print frocks and sensible underwear so I was not a little surprised to find myself buying an internet radio from their on-line store a few days ago. I'd have been even more surprised to have found myself buying a floral print frock but that's by the way.

When I was a wee boy one of my greatest pleasures was to lie in bed fiddling with the radio trying to make out what was struggling out of the little box from faraway places through a cloud of crackles and whistles. Actually the boxes were quite big in those days but again that's by the way.

I've never lost my taste either for radio or for things foreign so the opportunity that broadband gives to sit down in Scotland and hear with perfect clarity Radio Moscow's propaganda broadcasts to Latin America is for me one of the twenty-first century's greatest boons.

That, coupled with the demise of Jazz FM as a digital broadcaster here, commercial radio's complete absence of jazz and the pathetically minute proportion of their output that the BBC's five or six music stations devote to the genre has made the computer an essential listening tool. One of the best jazz programmes that comes from the BBC comes from Radio Scotland, not one of their music stations, but once more that's by the way.

But the computer, even when it's called a laptop, is not ideal; with its tiny speakers, its keyboard and its mouse - especially when you are lying in bed. So the internet radio, or computer in disguise, has long been on my wish list and now I've got one that ticks all my boxes. It has DAB and FM as well as the internet. It can play music that's stored on my computer. I can connect it to my hi-fi or I can have on my bedside table.

That's where it is now. I went to sleep last night listening to TSF, a jazz station that I used to listen to via steam radio in Paris. The machine has a sleep button of course. That's an essential for me. It also has an alarm but I can live without that.

And this morning I got my news from Europe 1. I'm leaving Moscow for a special treat, although I believe their propaganda effort is a pale shadow of its former self.

You can see how it would be quite easy to misplace an electricity cable in this lot.

The spindoctor has moved on to better things so my complaint will have to get to TIE by the front door. I'm thinking of complaining to Glasgow School of Art as well. Having paid £5.75 for a tour of the building (and that's a concession price) I wasn't allowed to take any photos of the inside. No doubt this was to encourage me to spend twenty or thirty quid on a fancy book full of plans and pics but I didn't even buy a postcard. Lovers of CRM shouldn't miss it though.

Fortunately there is no restriction on taking pictures of other architectural splendours and here's one of Edinburgh's newest.

Indeed it was the trams. Here's most of the council's reply:

"These Bustracker signs were removed and reinstated by the public utility diversion Contractors working on the tram project. Re-connecting the signs to a suitable power connection has proven to be a problem. Unfortunately I have no direct control over the project but I am aware that the next phase of tram works are (sic) due to begin on Leith Walk in the new year, so there could be further disruption and bus stops may be moved again.

I have asked again for all outstanding Bustracker works to be completed as soon as possible, however, I suspect that at least some Bustracker signs will be out of action until completion of the next phase of tram works."

I love the statement about the connection to a power source proving difficult. Does that mean that in moving the electricity cables they've lost them? I'm having lunch tomorrow with the father of a tram spindoctor so shall get him to pass on my complaint.

In the meantime as the council man went on to say, I can get real-time bus info here and if ever I have a wap-enabled phone I'm sure to make use of their mobile facility till the arrival of the trams makes it all unnecessary.

But hey, nobody's perfect. I turned up for an appointment this afternoon exactly 168 hours late.

Pursuing my public-spirited inclinations I have in the last few days complained to Lothian Buses about the continuing absence after more than a year of this gadget from my stop and to the Scottish Parliament about the continuing presence of these ghastly railings after a period of what seems like several years.
The railings were put up because some careless sod fell into the decorative pool but that was yonks ago and whatever you think of the building these crowd control railings do not add to the aesthetics of the site and it is surely time that some nifty, beautiful and inspired architectural solution was found. Is there a new Miralles around?

The Parliament has acknowledged my complaint and promised a full and frank reply within 20 working days.

Lothian Buses have gone one better and given me their full and frank reply already. It seems, surprise, surprise that it's all to do with the trams. But something I didn't know is that it is the City Council that's in charge of bus trackers not LRT. The bus man suggest that the council have decided to leave reinstatement of the Shrubhill bustrackers till the rails are laid. I don't know why Shrubhill should suffer when other affected trackers are back in working order but we shall see what the Council have to say for the busman has forwarded the correspondence to them.

When the Lahore Pipe Band were refused visas to come to Glasgow to compete in the World Pipe Band Championship earlier this year I was flabbergasted by the absurdity of it.

No doubt a suicide bomber could have stuffed his bagpipes with explosives and blown the assembled pibroch lovers sky high as he hit the top notes of "Gordon's Lament for Lives Lost in Afghanistan". But they could have been obliged to perform behind concrete blocks or some more subtle technique employed to keep us safe. After all if you've seen "Tunes of Glory" you'll know that there are ways of making sure that things are as they should be even when concealed under the kilt.

So I seized upon the chance to help future foreign pipers and the like by signing this petition. Am I becoming public-spirited or just bolshie in my old age?

After lunching together yesterday Siobhan and I came across a crowd in Hanover Street. The street was closed to traffic and there were several cops on motorcycles hanging about. It was not at first obvious what was going on but almost immediately a car flying a royal standard pulled up so there was clearly a benefit claimant in the offing (what else can one call the beneficiaries of the civil list?).

A royal protection chappie came out of a building and stationed himself by the car and was followed by Princess Anne who waved cheerily at her mum's subjects, got in the car and was whisked off. Interestingly the building she came out of is occupied in part by Kelly Office Services so maybe she was looking for a real job.

Siobhan declared herself neither shaken nor stirred by this incident but Anne's continuing loyalty to Scottish rugby despite its indifferent results rather endears her to me in spite of my anti-monarchist tendencies; mind you given some of the presidents one has seen around I'm inclined to be anti-republican as well. So I was disappointed that I had once again broken my rule of never leaving the house without a camera and thus didn't get a snap. I'll have to change my phone for one that's got a camera built in.

A further and more bitter disappointment awaited me. I'd popped my saxophone into a repair shop when I got to Edinburgh to get the crook screw fixed and collected it shortly after not taking a picture of the princess. The guy told me that he had replaced a couple of leaking pads as well as fixing the screw. That's not quite double dutch to me. It means a couple of holes are not being fully closed when they should be so some sounds are not quite right.

Anyway whether as a consequence of this or because it had been two weeks to the day since I'd last blown the thing I was horrified at what came out (or didn't) when I tried to play it yesterday.

A fearsome regression I fear. When will I get away from square one?

Multitasking as we know is a female attribute so it is not surprising that disaster struck when I was revising a script in the lounge and grilling my tea in the kitchen. I just wish it had been the script that suffered rather than the meal. Charred Cheddar is not a nice taste even when washed down with Australian plonk, but I had spent an hour or so on the sophisticated blend of potato, onion, bacon, egg and cheese so I wasn't going to throw it away.

Tempus fugit and all that. Already it's Friday. Monday's nine hour drive from Dover started off in miserable conditions but once north of London the weather cleared and I sailed along, periodically passing through stretches of cone filled motorway where occasionally work was going on. More often the reason for the cones escaped me.

The flat was in great nick thanks to Connor's ministrations. The only reason that he will not be nominated for the Nobel domestic service prize is a singular failure to iron the shirts that I left in August.

Since then I've been picking up the traces; drawing up lists of things to do, a bit of culture here and there, a Grads meeting - and, I renewed my acquaintance with television last night. I was so pleased to see a Kirkcaldy man do well on University Challenge.

I've found time to finish the book I was reading, a John Le Carré spy novel in which I didn't expect to find a joke that would made me laugh out loud. Let me share it with you.

"This morning, still drunk, he had called Strelski to warn him of a new form of AIDS that was afflicting Miami. It was called Hearing Aids , Pat said, and came from listening to too many assholes from Washington."

My fiddling about with the washing machine has uncovered innate engineering skills. It did not leak when I did two large batches of washing yesterday morning.

There has been something of a focus on clothing events this week. The clothes that I dutifully washed were mainly those soiled during my golf outing which I had of course brought back with me. Alas I didn't bring back all the clothes that I had taken.

I blame the French health service for that.

You see our original lodging plan for this outing was to stay with Ernest, a Swiss golfing chum who lives in that area. At his invitation I hasten to add. But at the last minute he and his wife were both given dates for hospital procedures that made having four Dryades stay with them even more of an imposition than it already was.

So we had to go to a hotel and by then all the cheaper places were full and we ended up in a relatively swanky one. Swanky to the extent that we each had a sitting room as well as a bedroom. Now normally I just live out of my travel bag but here I thought I would act the gent and spread my gear over the various wardrobes and cupboards in my suite. Unfortunately I failed to check them all when packing up. Goodbye a rather nice sweater, a pair of shorts and assorted bits and pieces. Thank God none of the bits and pieces had frayed elastic and that the socks had no holes.

Now being a hotelier's son and grandson I've made a few beds in my time and normally would place a guest's folded pyjamas under the pillow or on top of the made up bed. In winter when I went round with hot water bottles I would turn down the top sheet and place the pyjamas on the exposed pillow. But that's not how they do things in this swanky spot. Here's how I found my pyjamas when I came back to the hotel.I'm now in a much less swanky Premiere Classe but they treat your pyjamas with respect and you get free wifi. Apart from using it to write this post I've done a bit of surfing and came across this petition. I almost never sign petitions but the New Vic as it was then is where I first saw South Pacific. I signed and urge my readers to do likewise.