A hint of grotesque distortion has crept into the never-ending procession of spleen-venting malcontents who increasingly characterise the owners and managers of Scotland’s estates and farms.
A certain gentle mockery used to come my way from within the ranks of the Crumley tribe for using the word “record” when I meant a CD.
Sooner or later, as September drifts towards October, and autumn drifts towards its prime, I incline towards the idea that I have an appointment to keep.
When the history of nature conservation in Scotland comes to be written, the date of Thursday November 24 2016 will have a chapter all to itself.
Poppies and whitethroats, sea sounds and eider sounds, two sea eagles – one low over the Tentsmuir pines and the other climbing a blue spiral on a warm day, a dozen dolphins pounding the waves off Crail.
Did you hear the one about the Scottish Government, Scottish National Heritage and a family of beavers on a river near Beauly?
Back in March I posed two questions in this corner of The Courier.
I would like you to consider two hypothetical scenarios. Both are crime scenes.
The River Balvaig’s course is short and sweet and slow, and agreeably tranquil.
One of the most telling symptoms of the crass stupidity that underpins the very idea of Britain leaving the European Union has probably escaped your notice.