Hidden Treasures

Happiness is an unsuspected paisley shawl. And it's not just a good line for a poem either! Let me explain.

Last week, I bought a couple of boxes of old linen at auction. Even after so many years of buying things at auction, there is still nothing quite so thrilling as sorting through a big box and wondering what you are going to find there. Of course on viewing day - if you're wise - you have a good rummage, but sometimes the boxes are big, and stuffed with items, some of them in less than clean condition - marked with teastains or even mould, because people have a habit of putting things away while they are not especially clean, or even still damp from a cursory wash - and then forgetting about them for the next fifty years. Part of our job, as dealers in old textiles, is the careful laundering of precious items. Or knowing when not to launder at all, but to freshen up a little and leave things as they are, for the experts to deal with if they wish. If I were a better seamstress, I might do repairs, but I'm not and I don't - again, I leave that to the experts.

Last week, I staggered home with just such a box of not-very-fresh old linen, and had the extreme pleasure of sorting through it and finding a number of interesting pieces. But somewhere in the middle of the carton was one of those re-sealable plastic bags that people use for storing woollies, and in it was what looked like one of those coarse 'dust sheets' that DIY stores sell for home decorating. Now when I'm sorting through a box of old linen, like this, I have a 'charity shop' bag ready and into it I put all the smaller bits and pieces which are in reasonable condition, but which I don't want to either sell or to keep. I lifted this plastic bag and thought 'hmm, charity shop'. I hadn't opened it in the saleroom, because it was very firmly fastened, and I already knew I wanted to bid on the box. But a wee voice whispered in my ear 'don't be daft, open it and see what it is!'

Which was just as well, because when I unzipped the plastic, and unfolded the linen cloth inside, what emerged, like a butterfly from a chrysalis, was a vibrant printed paisley shawl - silk gauze, summer weight, light as a feather and stunningly beautiful! At some time, a few years ago, somebody had very carefully stored it away - but what she hadn't done was label the bag. So when - presumably - her house had been cleared (and it's a sad task for relatives, I know - I've done it myself) nobody had realised what was lurking beneath the plastic. How could they? It had simply been lumped in with all the other linens. What makes me shudder is that this gorgeous 150 year old textile might have finished up in a skip. It's safe now, and it will eventually go to somebody who will love it as much as I do. But it's an object lesson in not getting complacent - when you are buying at auction you quite literally never know what might be lurking at the bottom of the box!

Millport, Bicycles and Art at the Garrison

Just back from a weekend spent at Millport, on the Isle of Cumbrae where Alan was demonstrating painting in the newly refurbished Garrison. We were staying with our old friends the Mapes - of bicycle rental fame. Over the years, it seemed impossible to visit this lovely little Clyde island without hiring a bike and cycling round - always from Mapes of Millport. They had the toy and joke shop too - and it was always a favourite with the kids who visited - still is, I'm sure. The business is now run by Frank and Anne's son. When our son was little, we generally found ourselves doing this on the last day of the summer holidays - ice creams, fish and chips, the crocodile rock and a long but mercifully flat cycle ride ten miles round the perimeter of the island. It was a special treat and now, visits to the island are imbued with a kind of nostalgia that has, I'm sure, a lot to do with those long, lost and lovely summers. I was never glad to see the end of the summer holidays - they always came much too soon for me! And I can never hear Abba's wonderful 'Slipping Through My Fingers'

What happened to those wonderful adventures

The places I had planned for us to go

Well some of that we did but most we didn't

And why, I just don't know

without thinking of Cumbrae - which was, at least, one of the things we did.

Alan had a good weekend too - considering that on sunday the weather was as appalling as a wild day in December - and consequently visitors were few and far between - the people who did make it to the Garrison were certainly appreciative of his slightly strange, vividly naive works of art - lots of praise, which is certainly welcome, especially when the reception from the art establishment is sometimes less than congratulatory.

Vintage Fashion: a Touch of Deja Vu

Not quite Scottish this - but certainly relevant to all things vintage! I was clearing out some old papers the other day and came across a wonderful (and pristine) issue of Honey and Vanity Fair magazine from 1972. It makes fascinating reading, not least for how similar media obsessions are then, and now. ('For lovelier nails, smooth away ugly cuticles.' 'We don't promise any overnight miracle cures for spots and pimples.' 'Soften yourself all over with baby oil' ...)

Even more interesting to me, though - since I'm pretty obsessive myself, where vintage fashion is concerned - is the undoubted fact that you could take just about all the clothes and (if you were young enough!) wear them without anyone batting an eyelid. This row of coloured tights and shoes for instance. Did I topple off shoes like that? Well I'm pretty sure I did. But do they look particularly dated? Don't think so. As for the coats, the wonderful 'coats Garbo would be proud to wear' - I'd be quite happy to find them in my wardrobe even now.

Actually, I've got two even older pieces in my wardrobe and I do wear them quite often. One is a Dereta tweed coat from the sixties which would have looked impossibly middle aged to me back then, when I was a girl, but now just looks stylish and slightly quirky. The other - also from the sixties - is my favourite: a beautifully cut, pale, pure wool coat with a curly lamb collar. It looks exactly like something Samantha would wear in those later episodes of Bewitched. It fascinates me to watch how the fashions change through the episodes of that series - since it spans that time during the sixties when everything, including fashion, underwent such profound changes. I paid about £10.00 for it in a charity shop and whenever I wear it people ask me where I managed to find it.

The other thing that interests me about this old issue of Honey is the amount of text it contains. There are wonderful images, for sure, but there is also a great deal of reading in it: blocks of text that editors of magazines aimed at young women - which Honey undoubtedly was - would almost certainly shun nowadays, on the grounds that their readers couldn't cope with it. And perhaps they couldn't. There are two decent pieces of fiction as well - a short story and a serial. It is, though, the ephemeral things that take you back with heartrending clarity: the ads for everything from Christy's lanolin facepacks to Mary Quant astringent. Nostalgia, thy name is surely advertising!

Drumlanrig

Wonderful visit to Drumlanrig Castle in Dumfries and Galloway a few days ago. Hard to say which was more beautiful - the house or the gardens. The house is open only during the summer although I believe tours can be arranged at other times. The house is full of unexpected delights - like the ancient leather wallcovering, and the needlework said to have been done by Mary Queen of Scots. Mind you - if all the pieces of needlework said to have been done by the unfortunate Queen of Scots were to be laid end to end, they would stretch a considerable distance! - however, this one is fabulously authentic and the castle is a likely enough home for it, with all the family's royal associations.

Drumlanrig is also full of fine artworks, the most renowned of which is probably Rembrandt's 'Old Woman Reading' which is well displayed and lit. You can see it here. According to the guide, opinion divides as to whether she looks faintly sinister or marvellously restful. I'm of the latter opinion - there is something soothing and reassuring about this old lady, so absorbed in her book - a picture that you want to stand and gaze at for a very long time. One other thing that struck me: it was so lovely to see this picture in a domestic setting, however grand! It was a reminder that such artworks were not, in the main, intended to be hung in galleries, surrounded by other pictures, and certainly not surrounded by labels telling us what we ought to think about them. The castle tour was excellent value for money - the gardens were beautiful, so were the little craft and food shops in the courtyard, there were plenty of picnic tables (but if you're taking a picnic, do buy your fresh sausage rolls in the food shop at the castle!) and as a bonus, the cycle museum was unexpectedly enthralling - who would have thought that bicycles could be so fascinating?

Expanding the Scottish Home

For some time now I've been writing two blogs: Wordarts is all about the business of writing and The Scottish Home is loosely linked with my online store of the same name, mainly dealing in the antique textiles I love, but also with other items including artworks and antiquarian books, many of them with a Scottish or Irish provenance. I've also been making the occasional contribution to a fascinating magazine blog about video games: passion4games .

Over the past few months, however, it has become clear that I'm spreading myself much too thinly and the result is - inevitably - that I'm not doing anything very well. And that includes blogging! Perhaps even more importantly, I find that I'm spending far too much time writing about writing, and not half enough time doing the actual creating - and that's not good for somebody who, first and foremost, likes to think of herself as a writer of fiction.

I've spent a few days taking stock, making notes but above all thinking. And the results of all that thinking are that I'm planning to cut down, consolidate and organise my time better.

I'll be taking a break from Wordarts for a little while, although I'll still be making the occasional contribution to passion4games, because that whole area of video game development, with all its implications for creativity, interests me enormously.

For roughly half the week, I'll be working on The Scottish Home, expanding my antiques business in various new directions. I have a few fledgling plans for sourcing interior design statement pieces, and tackling the newly fashionable idea of 'upcycling' - i.e. recycling with style. The freelance life being what it is, we've been doing that in this particular Scottish home for years!

This blog will be expanded to reflect these new interests, although most of my posts will retain a very definite sense of Scotland. I don't write much about Golf and Whisky (neither of which I have any aversion to, especially not a good island malt!) but I also think there is more to Scotland than those two attractions. And more to textiles than tartan. And more even to tartan than you might believe!

When I'm not working in, for and with the Scottish Home, for the other half of the week, I'll be finishing a new collection of short stories and writing a new piece of historical fiction. Not all my creative writing is set in Scotland of course, but even when it isn't, I often find that artefacts, things which people have possessed and loved, things which people have perhaps even made or embellished themselves, can play an important part in the stories I tell. I find myself weaving them in, just as fascinating designs can be woven into - or printed on - the old paisley shawls that are another of my passions!

Logan Gardens

We drove south yesterday, to visit Logan Gardens in Galloway. This smallish botanical garden is one of my favourite places, full of plants which - almost anywhere else in the UK - would have to be grown under glass, but which flourish here in this wonderfully warm corner of Scotland. True to form - although the weather forecast was fairly horrible, and we set off in wind and driving rain - by the time we had reached Cairnryan, the skies had lightened. Stranraer was sunny and the gardens themselves were basking in warmth under blue skies. It stayed like that for the rest of the day. Logan Gardens are small enough to be accessible, but varied enough to be fascinating. For me though, it is the trees, the Eucalyptus that flourish here, that are a marvel. I could revisit them again and again - and probably will.

Tissue Issues

Interesting observation today, about how easily business is lost. Because I post vintage linens all the time, I try to wrap them in good quality acid free tissue paper. For some years now, I have been buying my packs of tissue online from Lakeland. At the same time, I would always find myself buying 'something else' - usually a treat for me: good quality vanilla essence, a little box of Brodie's chocolates (the best chocolates in the world!) or a kitchen gadget.
Today, with tissue paper running low, I went to the Lakeland site to find that they no longer stock it! I've emailed them to ask why, and if they plan to reintroduce it. But meanwhile, of course, I had a look at eBay, to find somebody supplying larger quantities of what looks like excellent quality sheets of acid free tissue - at a slightly cheaper price. I've promptly ordered them. If they live up to expectations, I'll be buying from them in future. If they don't, then there are plenty of other options on the site. And of course, I doubt if I will be buying my little Lakeland 'treats' in the future, since the main reason for going to the site no longer exists, and - times are hard! Besides, I can buy lovely gadgets in my local T K Maxx for a fraction of the price.
I doubt, of course, if my defection will worry a company as big and prestigious as Lakeland. All the same - they should consider that I'll spread the word, that if you multiply me by a number of other customers, who may encounter similar problems - sooner or later, it will begin to show on their bottom line.
Customers are hard to win and extremely easy to lose. We are a fickle lot out here.

Apologies for Long Silence

The Scottish Home is back! So much has been going on in terms of work and family life for me, over the past few weeks, that blogging has been the very last thing on my mind. My propensity for writing lists spiralled out of control, and involved the creation of a Mega List, but at last I seem to be getting on top of things, before they comprehensively get on top of me! Meanwhile, over the past few weeks, I have acquired - from various sources, including the South of France, as well as here in Scotland - a great deal of truly wonderful old linen. Some of it is whitework, and some of it is gorgeous colourful embroidery. Some of these little tablecloths in Irish Linen and bright colours are so beautifully embroidered that they could almost be framed up. Yet they are hard wearing and forgiving. You can use them and wash them and they still look lovely - although bear in mind that direct sunlight will certainly fade these spectacular colours.

Some of the linen had been well cared for, some of it was quite new, but had obviously been stored away in an attic or similar for sixty or seventy years and was consequently discoloured, while some of it was in a dreadful state, with mould spots etc. When you get a piece of old linen that is so discoloured, it becomes a case of 'kill or cure' - I soaked a huge old damask for about a week in a solution of Vanish and water, changing the water occasionally, then washing it twice and hanging it outside to dry. To my surprise, even the mould spots have disappeared, leaving only a few faint marks. This is not, of course, to be tried on anything precious or delicate, and you should ALWAYS consult an expert, when in doubt. But when a piece of inexpensive table or bedlinen is so defaced that the alternative is to make it into a dustsheet, then you might as well experiment with modern stain removers, sunshine, or - in winter - frost! You might be pleasantly surprised.

Is This Any Way to Treat a Sculpture?

Some years ago, my woodcarver husband, Alan Lees, was commissioned to make a life size carving of Tam o' Shanter and Meg the Mare. It was duly installed, with great ceremony, in the Tam O' Shanter Experience in Alloway. Almost from the day it was installed, however, the staff of the shop seem to have treated it as a dreadful inconvenience. Perhaps it was put in the wrong place - that wasn't our fault. Sculptors make statues to commission and generally put them where they are told!
But it has now become one of the most beautiful and expensive display stands in the history of the world. Whenever I have set foot in the centre over the past years, it is to find the statue surrounded by what can only be described (for want of a ruder word) as miff maff. As somebody remarked of this picture, the tartan napkins are surely the ultimate insult for poor old Tam.
Not only that, but when my husband, who carved this piece over some six months of blood, sweat and tears, sets foot inside the place, he is treated as some kind of pariah, with borderline rudeness. They have never promoted the statue, never used it in any of their publicity, never asked him to come and do any maintenance on it (it needs a little refurbishment) never expressed anything but complete and utter distaste for it and for the artist who made it.
The public, on the other hand, love it. If it was used as it was intended, people should have been able to get up close to it, have photographs taken, touch it and stroke it (wood is nothing if not tactile) and generally interact with it. They have done what they can - the horse's nose has a lovely patina, as has it's big bum, which has obviously been patted a good deal. But the horrible clutter means that people seldom can get up close. We have had people coming to this house, Australians, Americans of course, literally raging about it - but of course there's nothing we can do.
Now, the old Tam o' Shanter Experience is due for demolition. There is some talk of the statue going to Prestwick Airport - which would be good. There's plenty of room for it. But it will be hard to move (it is cemented in place) and it will need a certain amount of renovation. We have deep misgivings. Nobody has contacted Alan about it for months, and we wonder just exactly what will become of it when the centre is demolished round it.

Ayrshire Fiddle Orchestra

Went to a concert by the Ayrshire Fiddle Orchestra, in our village hall last night. In one sense it was a typical village event of the kind that we don't seem to have half enough of these days. When I first moved here in 1980, the whole village year was punctuated by one get together or another - the bonfire, the Christmas craft fair, the daffodil tea, the wine tasting, the gala day, the Minister's garden party... Far too many of them have fallen victim to health and safety regulations, or lack of interest or both. But last night was different. The village hall was full of familiar faces. There was a brilliant concert by a lovely group of talented young people, there was a raffle, and then tea and home baking at the end. It was a real pleasure, it was a genuine rural get-together and it doesn't happen often enough these days. We are well aware that our local council would like any possible excuse to close our village hall, but it is one of the few resources left to us. And the fact that last night it was full to capacity only goes to prove the truth of the 'if you build it they will come' maxim. Lay on some good entertainment, publicise it properly, spread the word, provide a pleasant evening out, reasonably close to home - and a surprising number of people will tear themselves away from the television, come out - and socialise.

Burns on the Solway in the Scottish Review

I've just written a piece for the Scottish Review about Brow Well on the Solway, which probably counts as one of the least known places with which Robert Burns was associated. This isn't surprising, since he spent the last few weeks of his life there, desperately ill and horribly worried about his wife, who was heavily pregnant, and about the possibility of being sued for money he didn't have. As soon as he was dead, however, the great and the good of Dumfries came out to mourn him - and pestered poor Jean for pieces of manuscript, written in his own hand: disgraceful but not entirely unexpected behaviour. You can't help thinking that exactly the same kind of thing would happen nowadays.
Anyway, this part of the Solway Coast is bleakly beautiful and I find myself returning to it again and again in my writing.
Meanwhile, the same issue contains an elegantly acid piece about Swine Flu panic. If you're into Scotland, and all things Scottish, why not sign up to receive regular online issues of the magazine?

An Old Scots Mohair Blanket from Newton Stewart

I recently came across this lovely old mohair blanket or throw, made in Cree Mills, in Newton Stewart - possibly in the 1950s or 60s although it's impossible to be sure. These old Galloway woollen mills closed in 1986 having been active for most of the century. They replaced a much older cotton mill on the same site, on the banks of the River Cree. People had told me about these wonderful old textiles in the past - how soft and light and fluffy they were, how warm, how stylish. But I hadn't seen one until this turned up. It was a little stale, having been stored, so I washed it, carefully. It's huge, and utterly gorgeous and I wish - in these somewhat straitened times - that somebody would start making more of these fabulous throws and blankets in Scotland again. I use old Ayrshire blankets all winter in this house - nothing quite so cosy against the drafts. I also put a couple of beautiful sixty year old Yorkshire blankets over our couches for the winter - leather can be chilly, but old wool with subtly colourful designs, transforms them. This vibrant and cosy Scottish throw is really a winter item - but I can imagine that it would make an excellent picnic blanket or a comfortable throw on a futon, or spare bed.

Tulips

If I had to pick a favourite flower, other than roses, which kind of goes without saying, it would have to be tulips. I adore them and find the season all too brief. Earlier this year, my good friend (and ace interior designer) Brenda Kevan arrived with a huge bowl of tulips - the bulbs just sprouting. That's them, the gorgeous pink and white ones on the left, massed on one of our garden tables, with some smaller purple blooms and a mixture of scarlet parrots and pale pink tulips which I bought at Ayr Flower Show last year, and which Alan planted late in the year, when I hadn't got round to doing it and he thought I never would! They've been steadily flowering for a couple of weeks now and I find the colours - which seem to me so close to those found in old textiles - truly inspirational.

Tam o' Shanter Teeshirt

Here's The Scottish Home's new 'Tam o' Shanter' Burns Anniversary teeshirt - you can just see the illustration which is of Nannie, hauling on poor Meg's tail. The shirt is modelled by our son!

There will soon be another image available on cards and teeshirts and prints - the 'after' illustration, in which the Meg has lost her tail - see the original artwork above.

A Very Happy Easter

to everyone who visits the Scottish Home from time to time!

I was sitting in our conservatory this afternoon, drinking a glass of wine, and listening to the sounds of children playing, coming from a neighbouring garden. It was a fine afternoon, a lovely sound and very welcome. It reminded me of when our children were young. It may be a cliche, but it seems like yesterday that the garden was full of running, swinging, shrieking kids. So it felt just a little sad as well. Time fairly races along. Enjoy it while you have it folks. And a very happy holiday to all our readers!

Frog Songs

It isn't only birds that sing at this time of year. I was digging over the vegetable patch yesterday (which explains why I'm tired today!) and my efforts were accompanied by a froggy song coming from the little garden pond. S/he was a good sized creature as well. I could see her wee head poking out from the vegetation, but whenever she realised that somebody was watching her she would disappear beneath the lily pads. I would go back to my digging (watched with extreme interest by the robin that lives here too). After a moment or so the froggy serenade would begin all over again. Notice that there is some frogspawn in there. Three cheers. I love frogs, even if we do sometimes find them hopping up the hallway!

Owls and others

I was late to bed last night. Standing cleaning my teeth, with the window slightly ajar I became aware of a strange noise. It sounded like a gang of unruly teenagers whooping and calling in the night, but we don't have very many of those in this village - a handful, but not many! And anyway it seemed much too late (or early, as Miss Jean Brodie might have put it) for them to be marauding about the playing fields. Then I realised what it was - owls.
We hear them often in our village, usually in spring and autumn. There are a number of mature trees and old buildings and the owls seem to be thriving. I'm not sure which kind they are and suspect there are several different sorts because there are differences in the calls. Last night's though was a resonant, spooky, traditional 'whoo whoo' sound with responses from elsewhere. You don't see them very often, although driving home late you will occasionally glimpse pale wings floating through the night. Nice to listen to them though.
Having gone late to bed, I woke early. Didn't get much sleep at all last night and a long day's work to get through. But the dawn chorus was in full swing. It always fascinates me how gradually the silence of winter gives place to all this singing. By April it will be deafening. Last weekend, I seized the opportunity of a fine sunday to do a bit of gardening and noticed that the garden was alive with birds, including a fat thrush. He seemed to be leading the chorus this morning, higher, sweeter and more varied than all the rest.

Sad but inevitable truth about Ayr.

If you go into a certain supermarket in the Scottish town of Ayr, you will see a set of old photographs of the town on one of the walls. Among them is a view of Burns Statue Square from 1956. It may be a black and white picture, but what it shows is a neat, well kept and pleasant burgh with interesting shops, and a general air of seaside prosperity - a town you might be glad to visit for a holiday, or a day trip. We moved to the town in the early 1960s while I was still a child and that's the town I remember: a wee bit conservative, (well, very conservative, if I'm honest) but in general, a good place to be.
No longer. There is, I'm afraid, no polite way of putting this. The town centre is a dump. Gradually, over the years, all the small, independent shops (the kind that make, for example, small towns like Castle Douglas such a joy to visit) have disappeared to be replaced by chain stores, 'pound' stores and banks, paying vast rates for town centre premises - or charity shops. The fish market was moved to Troon and the harbourside has been built over with new flats which just about block the view of the sea from the bridges over the river.
We might just have managed to put up with all that but worse was to come. There is, quite simply, no reason for tourists to visit the town. There is nothing to do except shop, and you'll find far better shops in Glasgow. There's a good beach, but there are good beaches elsewhere. If you're looking for a walk along the sands, you might as well carry on to any one of a number of picturesque villages to the south of Ayr, or head north where Largs has so much more to offer.
You could go out to Burns Cottage. But if you're in 'history' mode, you'd be better to 'do' the Cottage and then go on to Kirkoswald, to Soutar Johnnie's cottage - and to Culzean. Why on earth would you want to linger when Ayr is dirty, dilapidated, and depressing. Public lavatories? You must be joking. A theatre? Oh no - the old Civic is a wreck and they just closed and boarded up the Gaiety, which in any case had weeds sprouting from every orifice. Museum? What museum? There's a fine gallery out at Rozelle, but again, if you're headed that way, you might just as well keep going south. There's a swimming pool in a building of sixties municipal ugliness down by the seashore, but that too looks as though it might be on its last legs. There was one of the best ice pads in the UK out on the road to Prestwick, but they've just demolished it. You can't walk in Craigie Park for fear of being mugged and if you go out to Belleisle House, the wonderful Victorian conservatory, which I remember as being such a pleasure to visit, is out of bounds, falling down. Even pets corner is closing.
Meanwhile, as fine a set of Georgian buildings as you have ever seen, beside the New Bridge, buildings of great historical significance, which anywhere else would be treasured, home to galleries, shops, cafes - are (and have been for many many years now) in a state of dilapidation which seems nothing short of criminal.
I live in South Ayrshire. The council tax bill just came in. It is not small. So what, in the name of all that's unholy, are they spending it on? Question councillors and you will be told 'education' - but my son went to a local school, and believe me, the school in question wasn't having very much spent on it. Now, over the whole of South Ayrshire, the council have just closed a tranche of venues which provide exercise and occupation for youngsters - Girvan swimming pool and various sports and activity halls in the smaller, less well off villages, places from which the children have no hope of travelling, because the bus services are dreadful as well. With Girvan swimming pool goes the canoe club, which kept a big group of kids safely occupied through the winter months. With Dailly sports hall goes the karate club that used to meet there. And all while local government - and national government too - bleat hypocritically about vandalism and - God help us - rising levels of obesity. This is nothing short of iniquitous.
There were more public loos in ancient Rome, than there are now in the whole of South Ayrshire. They are in the process of closing Council offices in the smaller towns, so that elderly people will have to travel miles to register a death or pay their council tax. Well, maybe they can use the post office for that. Oh, hold on a minute, those have all closed as well although it was the UK government who sanctioned that one. An elderly friend who was rushed into hospital recently, and was a little late with ONE month's payment of council tax because she couldn't get to the post van - received a letter from South Ayrshire Council threatening her with sheriff's officers! Not too strapped for cash to send threatening letters to pensioners then?
The One Stop Shop which offered such excellent advice about all kinds of issues, including benefits, to the people of Maybole has also shut, deprived of funds. Now, they are going to charge us to uplift heavy pieces of refuse (Fly tipping anyone? And won't clearing all those sofas and fridges from the roadsides cost just as much in the long run?) Mind you, if you do attempt to drive anywhere, you will find potholes the side of craters in all the county's rural AND urban roads. Lots and lots and lots of them. Walk through the town and the empty shops, the kilos of dog dirt and the general ill kempt look of the whole place will soon get you down. It is exactly this kind of neglect which spawns more vandalism. God help the poor traders who struggle on, paying exorbitant rates for this, while heads of services still receive 70k salaries.
This is an area whose main industry is tourism. Walking through the streets of Ayr, right now, you would have no inkling that this might be the case. Credit crunch or no, you don't destroy everything that might help to sustain that industry. What's the good of having tourist signage if there's nowhere left for it to point to?
Oh yes. The sea. That's about it. Perhaps some of our elected members past and present (because this kind of thing doesn't happen overnight) might do us all a favour, head down there, and take a running jump.

Robert Burns - Tam O' Shanter

It is, let's face it, one of Robert Burns' best loved poems -and here is Alan Lees' contribution to the anniversary year - a wonderful evocation of the key moment in the poem. Poor Meg is just about to lose her tail to Cutty Sark. As for me, I rather like the little devil sitting in the tree down on the right, quite unpeturbed by everything that is going on above him - but with his attention distracted by the eyes under the bridge. I wonder who's living under there?!

Scottish Craftsmen versus English Heritage

Fascinating piece in last week's Sunday Time here, about English Heritage, fireplaces, and what looks like a certain amount of unfairness. Owning period properties is a bit of a minefield for owners anyway, without this kind of behaviour from bodies which really ought to know better. And as the wife of a fine craftsman who for many years was competing with cheaper imported products, I know whose side I find myself on. More power to Thistle and Rose's elbow!