DO you ever get days when everything comes together and you feel at one with the world? I had one of those recently. Yes, the sun was sparkling, the sky was azure blue, and as I happily hummed along to the Fratellis, I couldn't but admire what a beautiful city I lived in. Then - BAM! I looked down and saw a large gob of spit, slowly dribbling its way down my trouser leg.
Horrified, I whirled round and realised that the saliva in question had belonged to a young gentleman I'd just walked past near the bus stop. Sniggering under his baseball cap, he and his partner in slime jumped on board a bus and made their escape.
I was left standing there, with a total beamer, scrubbing at the offending stain with the contents of an entire packet of tissues.
I think - well, at least I hope - it was an accident, and that my kick-flare trousers just happened to get in the way of the trajectory of the spittle that was on course to land on the pavement instead of my pair of M&S' finest.
Of course, that's no excuse. Everyone's mum/granny/teacher tells them that spitting is a disgusting habit.
But there is a point in me telling you about this latest episode in my lifelong litany of embarrassing moments (it doesn't quite rank with being hit by a raw egg during the Evening News Cavalcade in 1985 - but that's another story) and it's not just to say that spitting is bad. No, in my opinion the incident perfectly illustrates the fact that the whole of Edinburgh is now being treated as a giant dustbin.
No doubt you weren't surprised to read in Tuesday's paper that Edinburgh has the dirtiest streets in Scotland - like me, you will have to pick your way through them every day.
Round where I live, the amount of detritus that you have to walk around, over or (only if absolutely necessary) through, is unbelievable; and phlegm is only part of the general mess of crisp packets, sweetie wrappers, fag butts, and broken bits of furniture. The dog dirt and puddles of vomit (more likely to be human than animal) are particularly stomach-churning.
When you think about all the litter on our streets, you begin to understand why we are only ever a few feet away from a rat - and why the Japanese insist on removing shoes before going indoors.
The council has, quite rightly, had its knuckles rapped by the Audit Scotland, and environment leader Bob Cairns says they plan to spend another £400,000 to increase street cleaning in the next year. Hopefully it makes a difference.
But what about that old adage of prevention being better than the cure? We are all paying for street cleaning when the ideal situation would be to stop people making a mess in the first place.
So what else could the council do? Well, they could spell out exactly how much the council tax could be cut if people stopped dropping fag ends, chewing gum and other rubbish in the streets.
It might not persuade some of the worst offenders, of course, but it might encourage some of the rest of us to get a wee bit more vocal when we see other people making a mess.
If we all become less tolerant of litterers and spitters, then eventually we might have a cleaner city.
Meanwhile, however, the council needs to get tougher on the offenders. Currently, the environmental wardens can issue fixed penalty notices of £50 - clearly this isn't proving to be much of a deterrent.
Those caught dropping litter should be forced to spend the day brushing, scraping and scrubbing it off the pavements. And the next person who spits in my direction had better be able to run fast.
My m
ate's a true Jambo, but even she worships at the feet of JC
TO
spare her blushes, I won't tell you her name, but a friend of mine recently confessed to developing a wee bit of a crush on John Collins.
I can't help having noticed - in passing - that he's not exactly ugly myself, and I would think her crush was fair enough, if it wasn't for the fact that he's the Hibs boss and she's a lifelong Hearts fan.
I suspect his attractiveness might have less to do with his handsome looks or the nice tan he'll be getting while the team trains in Spain - and a lot more to do with the fact that the Jambos are currently going through more coaches than National Express.
ERI
access languishing on critical list
IT
'S now a good ten years since detailed plans were first drawn up for the "new" Royal Infirmary at Little France.
I can still clearly remember reporting on the planning application, and the concerns that were voiced then about the transport links to the new hospital on the edge of the city.
A decade later, and there are still niggling problems with car parking and bus services. And now there are also delays in building a new access road between Greendykes and Little France that promises to dramatically speed up journey times.
The NHS gets the blame when people have to wait longer than is reasonable for treatment - and the revelation that 6000 patients have been transferred onto the controversial Availability Status Code (ASC) list, underlines how many are waiting longer than the 18-week guarantee trumpeted by the Executive.
The city council should be doing some explaining as to why it has made such a mess of its clear responsibilities to provide the necessary infrastructure for what is arguably the single most important building in Edinburgh.
• Stephen Jardine is away
