EVER since I moved from Leith to gorgeous Gorgie, I've tried to take full advantage of all the local amenities. Although they have been sampled - for research purposes only, of course - I'm not just referring to the vast array of takeaways or licensed hostelries.
Enticing though they may be, the best bit about residing in Gorgie is that for the last seven years, despite living in a flat without a window box, let alone a garden, I've been able to experience the Great Outdoors, virtually on my doorstep. By now
I must have walked, jogged or cycled hundreds of miles along the length of the Union Canal.
Largely thanks to the upgrading funded by the Millennium Commission, it's been a mostly pleasant experience. The canal has been a tranquil place to relax and to reconnect with nature - eventually I twigged there were such things as coots and moorhens as well as ducks and swans - and to get away from the busy, fume-filled roads nearby.
At first, there weren't that many other people using the towpath, and I felt like one of the lucky few to have rediscovered this green ribbon running through maroon territory. But word has got round and times have changed.
Now when you visit the canal, you'll more likely be caught up in a rush of mud-splattered cyclists, most of whom are bombing it along the narrow and puddle-pocked path at the same speed as if they were actually using a road.
The majority of them don't have bells, don't dismount if they're cycling under a bridge, and don't even have the courtesy to acknowledge you if you give way for them. Sick of constantly dodging out of the way - and sickened by a friend's graphic eyewitness account of a cyclist running over and instantly killing an old lady's dog - I've started to avoid the canal at peak times.
If I want to go out on my own bike, I'd probably feel safer on the roads - I don't fancy taking an unexpected dip in the canal, no matter how much they've cleaned up the water.
But, as I looked forward to getting back on my bike this spring, I began to think I was being a bit of a scaredy cat. Then I heard some distressing news that confirmed my worst fears.
A friend was out on his bike on the canal towpath recently when he collided with another cyclist near a bridge. He has suffered a serious head injury, which needed surgery at the Western General, and he now faces a lengthy spell in hospital for rehabilitation.
I don't know who, if anyone, was to blame for the accident, and my main concern is that he gets well as soon as possible. But when an increasing number of cyclists are using a path which was never designed for bikes, was this an accident waiting to happen?
British Waterways, which has responsibility for managing the canal, has recognised that "as more and more people discover the charm and tranquillity of the waterways, there are increased risks of conflicting interests".
Its Waterways Code urges cyclists to "give way to others on the towpath and warn them of your approach" and to "dismount under low or blind bridges or where the path is narrow".
Sadly, I very much doubt that most cyclists are even aware of the code, let alone using it.
And as the canal gets ever more popular, the question is: should cyclists require permits and training before they are let loose on the towpath?
Or should they be banned altogether before someone gets killed?
8.28 . . Jenny watches Big Brother (again)
IT hasn't taken me long to break my only New Year's resolution. In 2007 I was absolutely determined not to watch Big Brother. But, I confess, I've been sucked in again.
I've been hugely entertained - particularly by the number of celebrities choosing to quit the reality show.
Two did it in style. Donny Tourette simply leapt over the garden wall, while Ken Russell politely requested permission to "skedaddle" after falling out with Jade Goody over a forbidden plate of cheese and crackers.
But Leo Sayer showed how it shouldn't be done, walking out in a huff because he'd been nominated and then shouting and swearing his way through the gates.
I can't understand why he was so upset - after all, Leo claimed he hated the entire concept of celebrity. This begs a wee question: what on earth was he doing signing up for Celebrity Big Brother?
I stress, this is no way to start 2007
IT'S January, so there's nothing new about feeling sorry for myself. But this year all the usual reasons - the waistline expanding in inverse proportion to my bank balance, and the self-diagnosed seasonal affective disorder - are being exacerbated by an old enemy. Exam stress.
This week, a good - ahem - decade after I last sat any sort of academic test, I am to be examined on the extent of my knowledge of Scots contract law and the Scottish legal system. Just thinking about having to think about it is giving me wrinkles.
Well, I suppose if the wisdom of choosing to study part-time is ever going to be questioned, then it will be in the vilest, darkest, most depressing month of the year.
At least it's a good excuse to postpone my New Year exercise regime and decision to go cold turkey on the leftover Quality Street.
Fat chance of fun
IT IS that time of year when thoughts creak slowly round to healthier things than guzzling our body weight in turkey, trimmings and forbidden treats.
But what we really, really want (unless I am the lone voice of greed in a multitude of svelte health freaks . . . nope, thought not) is to be able to eat all the rubbishy fare that we want without having to feel guilty about it.
Yet, even as my Christmas gut rests gently on my thighs, I'm not that heartened by the thought of the just-launched "healthy" oven chip.
But I will celebrate when someone invents calorie-free chocolate limes. There's a scientific research project worth funding, don't you think?
• Helen Martin is away
