Poppy in Edinburgh Poppy, my sister, was three the first time we went to Edinburgh. I was six, and our mother was 35. All I was interested in was dinosaurs. My sister was only interested in the dummy hanging out of her gob and in the various detritus of the street, and my mother just wanted to tire us out so she could enjoy the evening with a friend. In the Natural History museum, the sensational diplodicus skeleton towered over me, and I was clambering about with toys in my hand being a dinosaur and an archaeologist all at once. Great stuff. Poppy, however, evidently less stimulated by the fearsome skeleton of this extinct monster than I, sudenly caused a security alert when it emerged that she'd smuggled a syringe, complete with hypodermic needle, into the museum. She'd picked it up on the street and brought it in. After being checked there were no new cuts, we were released. Later, we were outside, walking along a busy road holding onto our mother's hands. Suddenly our mother spotted a building which had her name on it. She lifted her arm to point at it, and Poppy suddenly emmitted a wild...