Clothes poles and crosses

I took these a couple of years ago from the back garden of my old flat in Arbroath. I liked that flat, and I'm sorry I left it in many ways. At the bottom of the garden was a wall and on the other side, the Brothock Burn ran down to the sea. I used to love looking over the wall on summer evenings watching the ducks, geese, gulls, dippers and occasionally kingfishers swooping down the burn. The kingfishers were amazing and a sure sign of the increase in quality of the burn. It was the first and only time I've seen them in Scotland. It was a real haven in the middle of town. The irony is that I now work right across the road from where my old flat was. It would have taken roughly 20 seconds to get to work in the morning had I stayed there....... oh well!

The top pic I think has a particular relevance for Easter...... or is it just me?

Kingfisher

That kingfisher jewelling upstream
seems to leave a streak of itself
in the bright air. The trees
are all the better for its passing.

It's not a mineral eater, though it looks it.
It doesn't nip nicks out of the edges
of rainbows. - It dives
into the burly water, then, perched
on a Japanese bough, gulps
into its own incandescence
a wisp of minnow, a warrior stickleback.
- Or it vanishes into its burrow, resplendent
Samurai, returning home
to his stinking slum.

Norman MacCaig 1910-1996

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Luddite?....

Now bearing in mind that I'm new to all this stuff, I just downloaded photofiltre and I've been messing about with it. Top pic is the original, which I posted awhile ago,  no alterations,  bottom one has been messed with. Can't make up my mind which one I prefer.

Not sure about this editing stuff. Always used to think a photo was done and dusted once you clicked the shutter. Am I being a Luddite or what?

Dunnichen

A vitally important yet often overlooked part of Scottish history took place in Dunnichen in AD 685. Dunnichen lies about five miles south east of Forfar. The Battle of Nechtansmere was fought here in 685 between the Picts and the marauding Northumbrians

The Northumbrians (or English for want of a better description) had been gradually extending their territory further and further north, capturing Edinburgh and Strathclyde. The Pictish King Bridei ( now is that where we get bridies from?) decided enough was enough and engaged King Ecfrith of Northumbria at Dunnichen, luring them into a swamp and destroying his army. 

Whilst Bannockburn is widely regarded as a turning point in Scottish history, there clearly would have been no Bannockburn had King Bridei not kicked the Northumbrians arses in 685. 

Top two pics show Dunnichen Kirk (church) built in 1802. The stone stands just a few yards from the green gate.

Moron, 4x4 and visitor centre

Apologies, I've been messing about with Windows Live and mucked up my sidebar. It's now down at the bottom and I can't for the life of me get it back where it belongs. But I'll get there!

Meantime here's a pic. A close up of the new visitor centre at Arbroath Harbour. I personally would have blown up the 4x4 parked on the double yellows cos he ruined my pic...... asshole!

Wee Boats and Tartan Shirts

Took my lunch down by the harbour in Arbroath today. It was bright and cheerful but still that chilly sea breeze. I like these old style fishing boats much better than the modern boring yacht type things...... character I think it's called. These old boats are disappearing rapidly now that Arbroath no longer has a fishing industry and the harbour has been turned into a 'marina'. As Jim Royle would say... 'marina my arse'.

The top pic shows what the elegant man about the harbour is sporting these days. The de rigeur dress code appears to be quilted tartan shirts combined with scabby jeans, a highly appealing look I'm sure you'll agree. Certainly, I'm off to Primark tomorrow to get kitted out. Then I'll be able to hang out with the real men!

The flag is the RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution) and between trying to catch it fully unfurled and asking those bloody seagulls to stay still, I had a tough job on my hands. 

In the background of the bottom pic you can see the new visitor centre, a bone of contention amongst locals. I don't think they take too kindly to all this 'modern' design. I'll post some close ups at a later date. Personally I quite like it.

From : The Ship of Death

.... And the little ship wings home, faltering and lapsing

on the pink flood,

and the frail soul steps out, into her house again

filling the heart with peace.

D.H. Lawrence 1885 - 1930

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Ponies, trees and tatties

Some rural images today. It was a public holiday so I had the day off. Took a drive out in the countryside with my wee camera for company. I'd passed these Shetland ponies a few times recently, but today I stopped. I knocked on the door of the house next to the field and sure enough they owned the ponies. I wanted to get in the field to take some close up pics. The poor guy who came to the door must've been about 90. Turned out they were his daughters ponies. She apparently got one about 15 years ago and they felt sorry for it cos it was lonely. So they got another, then it got preggers, pupped, foaled? Not sure of the expression! Today I counted eight and I'm sure there are more. Anyway he told me to come back when his daughter was there and I'd get into the field. I would have stayed and chatted longer but he looked perilously close to death, so I thanked him and snapped the pic from the road. 

If you click and enlarge, you'll see the two at the back are just puppy ponies, how cute are they?

It was a pretty grey day so I liked the way the blue tractor stood out on the landscape, especially against the deep brown of the turned earth. Tatties going in there I think.

Digging

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun. Under my window a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look down Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging. The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft Against the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep To scatter new potatoes that we picked Loving their cool hardness in our hands. By God, the old man could handle a spade, Just like his old man. My grandfather could cut more turf in a day Than any other man on Toner's bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up To drink it, then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods Over his shoulder, digging down and down For the good turf. Digging. The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head. But I've no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I'll dig with it.  Seamus Heaney  For more My World posts click here

In Just Spring

in Just- by E. E. Cummings

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little lame baloonman


whistles far and wee


and eddyandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring


when the world is puddle-wonderful


the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing


from hop-scotch and jump-rope and


it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed


baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

e.e.cummings 1932

I wanted to include this with my last post but the stupid bloody thing wouldn't let me..... so here it is now.

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