Walk up the royal mile, onto the plateau of the courtyard, through the relatively new gatehouse guarded by two legendary men and then take a right, past the old guard room and through the portcullis gate. If you keep going, ignore the Lang Stairs, far to steep, you will be able to spiral your way up, through this cornucopia of histories ages.

Eventually you will come across an almost perfectly rectangular building, one of the further most reaches of this rock. It is no bigger than your average domestic garage and sits directly atop the crag, itself built of volcano shaped of ice. If you compare this buildings construct to the those around it, you will notice a difference in the rock used, a workman like styling in the layering and joining of these stones. At varying times these four walls have been used as a chapel and a gunpowder magazine. As it now stands, serving the purpose for which it was originally constructed; a chapel built by a son, to honour Margaret, a Queen of Scots who was later anointed a saint by the man who was the orthodox Christian pope. Remarkably, for all the history within a radius of 6 miles, this 12th century building is the oldest standing of Dun Edyn as this city was known before it was given the name of 'Edinburgh' sometime in the last millennia.

The only reason we left the Castle was from exhaustion, having walked its cobbled streets for the best part of the day. We had wondered through its proud and detailed war museum, oh how man's mind excels when it involves killing other men. We stood in the room that witnessed the birth of England's first Scottish King, listened to the history of and looked upon the cherished 'Honours of Scotland'. The best value for thirteen pound, including radio and headphones that did fill our ears with information on the history of this castle and its city all day.

Tomorrow was going to be the trek across to Glasgow and up through Dumbarton along the A82 to Fort William and Ben Nevis. For now with the castle illuminated high in the night sky we walked down into the neat Georgian streets connecting George and Princes. A bustling Italian was located, complete with mischievous chef's tossing pizza and world weary waiters, every action laden with charm and accomplished with a flourish. Especially if you have a plunging neckline. We ended the night full of good food and wine, this time in the biggest bed I have ever wiggled my weary little body into, courtesy of the Royal Scot Hotel.