Andrew MacLaren-Scott's Blog, page 6
November 8, 2018
November 4, 2018
November 3, 2018
Ocean Terminal November Nice
Wife, with a ridiculous and thus far used only twice, Hibernian football club scarf around her neck, daughter in a much more used Hibernian woolly hat and scarf, daughter's man, who started all this Hibernian stuff many years ago, looking the fool in a Hibernian centenary strip top, plus scarf, badge and probably pants and socks (I would not be in the least surprised) and brother-in-law similarly attired, are all sitting at Easter Road stadium watching football. Meanwhile, shunning such nonsense, I am doing some work in the huge glass-fronted atrium at Ocean Terminal - albeit while drinking Guinness. I have just consulted my sensible son, in Cheltenham, by text, and he confirms that I have made the right choice... (especially since, as light faded, I heard that Hibs had been defeated).
November 1, 2018
To the island and back
I am labouring under the burden of some stresses, hopefully temporary. I walk toward the golf course with a troubled mind. On the bridge to the island, a strange feeling that troubles can stay on the mainland begins to emerge. By the time the path to the course is found, with sunlight reaching me through autumn trees, my mood lifts, at least for a while. I play the pointless game of golf, reflecting on the possibility that finding pleasure in pointlessness might help the continuing journey through an ultimately pointless life. Then later I make it to a very fine pub, and about half-way through a pint of Punk IPA, life, for the moment, feels fine.
October 31, 2018
October 30, 2018
October 29, 2018
Dry fountain
Built in 1874 in memory of a man whose identity is now uncertain, at least in the village where it sits. Such is life. Although in this village in Perthshire, Scotland, it does carry the inscription: "Erected as a gift to his native village by Alexander Martin Esquire, St John's, New Brunswick. Thanks Alex, for whom two possible identities have been identified, but no resolution achieved. People meet here, some to go elsewhere, some to chat, some to furtively smoke dope, or partake of other chemical illegalities. I just walk past, usually heading to the pub.
