#45 was yet another friend I kissed playing spin-the-bottle that year. (If you’re looking for stories of hot non-platonic action, check back in a week or so. There are several more of these ones to get through first.)
She was also yet another friend who was only living in Edinburgh for a year. She was a student from Austria. Early on in the first term, someone implied to me that #45 was an old-school lesbian feminist, of the biphobic and transphobic variety, and I felt a little bit wary of her on this basis. It turned out to be completely untrue, and I can’t remember who’d given me the idea. Eventually our friendship went to the next level when we discovered we were both Cop Shoot Cop fans.
A year later she came back for a visit and stayed at my place. All I remember is going to Iguana with her and #28. He and I were being loud and obnoxious and bickering over which of us the bartender fancied.
The next time I saw her was in December 2003 when my work sent me to Vienna for a few days, and I finally managed to notify her a day or two in advance. The same thing happened when I was sent there again earlier this year. Both times, she managed to find time to hang out with me. In between, I’ve consistently failed to contact her, partly out of inertia resulting from failure to properly remember her e-mail address (“OMG, is there an underscore in it or not? BEST NOT TO RISK IT”). I greatly appreciate friends who are able to tolerate this level of uselessness.
Last time I was there, we spent my last night in a bar called Marea Alta and drank until 5am, piecing together the social ups and downs of Edinburgh in 1998, none of which I can remember now.