Yesterday, my friend and I walked the land around Ireland’s oldest linen fabric mill, Clarks of Upperlands, in Mid-Ulster. A section of it is still working after 300 years, but much of it is disused and abandoned, but for a few dog walkers, quiet explorers like ourselves, and more than the odd ghost. We walked … Continue reading Strolling With Ghosts
One of the things I like about writing in the late afternoon or evening is that the light drops without me noticing it. One minute – at least that’s how it seems – the sun is low, but up, and the next thing I know, beyond the glow of my computer screen, the room is … Continue reading Watching Silence
I was at a lecture last night, part of the Book Festival. All about Muriel Spark, her writing, and how it was informed, sometimes even dictated, by disembodied voices that surrounded her, chirruping. In her more sane moments she believed she was having full conversations with her alter ego within. Other times, when she was … Continue reading In My Head
Erythronium: it’s a flowering alpine plant that I learned about and saw in profusion this week when I visited an open garden across in Fife. The woodland walk at Weymss Castle, where we were, is known for it. Weymss (rhymes with beams) is not a pretty castle; it’s a hulking barrack of a place, glowering … Continue reading The Forest Floor
My Edinburgh Press 