Portentous Day! Here’s to the future.

Spring! It has indeed arrived, the sun has risen, hidden behind sister moon, reappeared bravely to warm us, then hidden once more behind rain and wind and cloud. Then appeared again. Such is the nature of Scottish weather, all seasons are perfectly capable of adopting the other three, welcoming them into their fold before once more casting them off. I love this — being prepared becomes second nature when you live up here.

The sky gave a great view of the eclipse, here’s a photo of mine to prove this statement:

I'd imagine you already know about this...

I’d imagine you already know about this…

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Spring, eclipse, equinox and stories.

This website was stitched together slowly, pieces added hither and thither over many months.

I have tried to keep it ticking over, aware that it never properly launched, never yet used as intended.

I have learnt about WordPress over this time, themes, plugins, widgets, analytics, I have also taught myself SEO, meta-data, canonicalisation, and all those cunning little tricks available to the webmaster (this word always amuses me, hence having to shoehorn it in here — ever since I first heard it, I’ve had this image of, well, Spider-man).

It was very large and proud of its nest.

I don’t have a picture of Spider-man handy, so this’ll have to do.

(Sometimes I tell myself one day I may have an assistant to do these things, or outsource, yet who am I really kidding? Even if I could afford it, I am far too much of a control freak.)

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Comfort Circles

Over the last few months I have started several (dozens) pieces detailing my own personal opinions on the upcoming independence referendum here in Scotland.

Dozens.  Honestly. (37 – I just counted. This makes 38). (EDIT: Now 39).

Each has failed to please me.  Each was good, precise, entirely true and fair yet each seemed too small, too insignificant, too focussed on one aspect of the debate or too many.  And each was also far too long.

As I edit my tales and scribblings here in the far north of Scotland (over eight hours on the train from Edinburgh) I realise this inability to write a punchy, snappy essay may not be a bad thing. I would like to believe it shows that I, like millions of others, have listened, read, researched, questioned, digested and processed all we can in relation to the upcoming referendum.

I am, like those other millions, approaching this whole issue with the gravitas it deserves.

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Daith Comes In

As I mentioned in my last piece, I spent a couple of days in Auld Reekie on my way back to the far north.

When I arrived there, at something past two on a Tuesday afternoon, carrying a pack weighing seven stone four and rather tired, the lure of the sunny Princes Street gardens was great. I spent some hours simply watching and listening to the tourists, trying to work out their stories, work out who was resident in the city and who was visiting.

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The Cask Child

I was recently in Edinburgh for a brief stop off on my way home to the North of Norths.  My sister (who was also once my editor) lives there so I stayed with her and her lovely friend (who is now also her lovely housemate) in their new abode.  A great time was had by all, especially me.

At one point we started talking about hauntings and ghostly goings on in the city.  The conversation moved and swirled and we ended up with a brief tale of one specific ghost, resident in their home.

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