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.
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.
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.
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.
One of my favourite poets is Norman MacCaig. One of my favourite Norman MacCaig poems is Landscape and I. It begins:
The term “wildlife management”, often used in the environmental polemics of the day in reference to human manipulations, is an oxymoron. We should have learned long ago to simply leave the proper natural space, to respectfully withdraw and let wildlife manage wildlife.
Did you hear the one about the Scottish Government, Scottish National Heritage and a family of beavers on a river near Beauly?
The reputation of Scotland’s landowners took another hefty blow in the solar plexus in the seven days since I made the case for legislation to protect the red fox from the worst excesses of what passes for land management, after a protest outside the Scottish Parliament about abuse of foxhunting legislation.
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.
The Crumleys, like the Marras, were a Lochee tribe. It’s just possible that Michael and I threw snowballs at each other when some lads from St Mary’s primary (the Mary’s) came up the hill to Ancrum Road primary (the Anky) to mix it up a bit whenever winter obliged with a decent snowfall.