Perth

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There's a plaque on the front of a building in Perth's High Street that marks the site of the house in which Mrs Kennedy-Fraser was born in 1857. And who, you might ask, was Mrs Kennedy-Fraser? Well, according to the plaque, she was a 'Collector of songs of the Hebrides.' I often wonder what makes a person get up in the morning, perhaps to question the reason for their existence and the very meaning of life, and then, after much cerebral deliberation, announce proudly to an assemblage of mankind, 'Henceforth, I shall spend my mortal days in this world collecting Hebridean songs.'
The thing about Perth is that its streets are full of plaques and signs giving small snippets of information about the things that once went on. They could so easily be passed by by the visitor who rushes to get nowhere fast. There's another one, for example at the entrance to St. Ann's Lane, one of Perth's many narrow atmospheric vennels that lead off the High Street. If you stop and read it you will be informed of the Champion Inn that once had stabling for four horses, although there is no mention that any of the stabled beasts ever indulged in a bit of song-collecting.
Joking aside, I have to say that Perth is a truly beautiful place. It's streets are broad and ordered and bristling with stunning architecture, everything from the old Salutation Hotel to the museum, and even a water-works, as grand a structure as you will ever find, and now serving a function as the Fergusson Gallery.