Something trembled in a corner of my sight, something tiny and pale in all that pinewood landscape. A mountain burn tumbles past the corner of the wood and into the river there, and where their banks meet is a small stand of aspens.
Did you notice that last Friday, December 1, the day you hung up your advent calendar (because nothing says Christmas like chocolate coins), and the first day of meteorological winter, it got milder?
Just when it began to look like there were no more friends left to turn into enemies, Westminster’s ugly and undignified pursuit of Brexit has created a climate of such frustration and disdain among people who used to be our partners that these have banned British cities from the European Capital of Culture competition in 2023.
A post-Brexit technological revolution will sweep Britain, so all is well, and those of us who believe that Brexit was an idea knocked up in a London pub and written down on one of Nigel Farage’s fag packets can sleep easier.
Afternoon sunlight is as likely as anything to put an end to a writing shift. So when the day stirred itself from its stupor of gloom, I took a camera and a notebook for a walk.
A strange anomaly has crept into the Scottish Government’s position about the reintroduction of beavers.
So 2023, eh? Dundee, European City of Culture? I have a question. When was Dundee not a European city of culture? Culture and Dundee are two sides of the same coin. Europe, culture and Dundee are three branches of the same tree.
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.
I have been thinking about the Scottish football team because, well, hasn’t everybody?
This is a plea for the land. In particular, it is a plea to stop treating it as if it owes us a living.