A shot rings out over Edinburgh. ‘That’s the one o’clock gun, pup,’ I tell my dog, apparently uninterested.

We’re walking up the Crags - off the path in a line stand two young boys and their father, backs to the world, dicks to the mountain, spraying triumphantly. The dog runs happily into the celebrations. ‘Did you get pissed on?’ I ask on her return.

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