Last weekend I visited the brilliant Tartan exhibition at the V&A, Dundee. On their website (https://www.vam.ac.uk/dundee/whatson/exhibitions/tartan), it is described thus: “Tartan celebrates the global story of a unique pattern - how the rules of the grid have inspired creativity from the everyday to the sublime. The instantly recognisable symbol of Scotland, a global textile of tradition, rebellion, oppression … Continue reading Kilty Kilty Cold Bum
Other women have told me that they don’t like match day, they take themselves off for the afternoon or evening, or they adjourn to the back to the flat to block it all out. I like it; I find the unruliness enlivening rather than unsettling. Before I look out the window, I can feel the … Continue reading Match Day
Overheard on the radio: manipulate the brain and one’s experience changes. It’s the most obvious statement in the world, but how to pull it off? I refuse to become toxically positive and shut out all negativities. Is there an acceptable ratio of optimism versus pessimism to aim for? Perhaps a 10% pessimism weighting might be … Continue reading One Week
The light slips here, it moves subtly but dramatically, as did the slide of snow from the cottage roof earlier. When we arrived, I saw it as a slipped blanket soon to fall off the bed. Helen, who lives next door and is looking after us during our stay, told us to walk close to … Continue reading Hownam, Scottish Borders
It’s coming on Christmas. The days have crossed themselves off the calendar, and here we stand at the year’s tipping point of light into darkness into light. ’Tis the season for enfolding, being quiet, doing less. Instead though, the season demands a deluge of doing, much of which is enormous fun – should one have … Continue reading It’s Coming On Christmas
I wonder how many people are doing it, sending photos of the temperature gauge inside their house, snaps of thermometers plummeting to single digits, sharing images of themselves on their laptop wearing fingerless gloves and bobble hats, swaddled like a dead Viking about to be pushed out to sea. For some it’s an act of … Continue reading Cold
Set off from Eóin’s about 11:30 to walk a section of the John Muir Way, said we’d meet him and the child at Smeatons for tea and scones at 2 o’clock. Surely we’d have the short distance covered by then. From the end of the High Street, we bear west along the coast the high … Continue reading John Muir’s Long Shadow
I came away thinking: how can I convey in words what I have just heard? For someone who’s not been here, how can I describe it to them? If felt impossible to recreate that sound in writing. I’ll try. St Giles’ Cathedral, just after dusk. A short concert of choral music, a programme entitled Glimmering Light. … Continue reading Glimmering Light
XXIV. The Meadows A storm is blowing through. Aidan. Huge gusts shove children in the playpark, they stagger – little sozzled people – then regain their footing, run. Shouts can’t be heard above the blasting storm that rips through trees, strips boughs, steals hats. The pink curly wig on the girl with fishnet stockings is … Continue reading The Meadows, Kitchen Table
XXII. St. Stephen Street Here men wear trousers chosen for the fruit they eat – cherry, lemon, plum, and apricot. Stock fashion. Plaited belts, hair that tickles silk cravats (in paisley print) tucked into shirts (two buttons open), gold rimmed spectacles, pocket squares poke from Harris tweed. Men who say, ‘brisk breeze today,’ buy croissants … Continue reading St Stephen Street, Water of Leith
My Edinburgh Press 