Time Lines

Well, at times it felt as if this time would never come. Only a few pages of editing to do and Working for Josh, the 5th novel in the JP Associates series should be ready for it’s final proof. All going well, this means it may hit the shelves before Christmas. A big thank you to all my loyal readers who have waited with patience. Wishing you all the best of health and happiness.

Scotch Pies

As some of you will know, many of my characters are prone to a Scotch pie or two.
Well the news last week that a pie shop in Leith has produced a chicken, haggis and Irn-Bru pie has really got them talking.
Even Rebecca was heard comparing it to Chicken Balmoral. Though she did say she’ll be sticking with Sushi for the foreseeable future.
For the rest of the crew the verdict is out, but only until they can meet up again in the office.
Tracey said she cannae concentrate on anything while working from home, let alone pies, as Harry is daen her heid in.
But with the easing of lockdown approaching I hope to be able to let you know the result of their coming taster session soon enough.
Bet ye cannae wait.

Imagination

“Use it or lose it”, she said, before writing “purple prose” or “too subjective”in the margins.
“You’ve got too much imagination”, he said. “Stick to the task in hand”.
“Would someone please teach Alan about metaphysical poetry”, he said, “he has never heard of it”! They all laughed.
And the signs and symbols in the margins kept on growing. But when Juliana came, July I think it was, her gardener cut, with his scythe, all the weeds that had grown up in the eraducation garden.
She sang, somewhere in the distance, and I could hear her. And her song was no lullaby of the soul, and I was no longer marginalised.

Missed in the Mist

Stayed inside the glass yesterday and thought I’d missed the wicked mist. Couldn’t feel the stuff; that stuff that seeps through clothes, drips from tree and bush, pushes rooftops out of sight and causes most Scots to utter, “It’s not half dreich out there”.

Then my wonderful neighbour arrived with a bag of veg and after our greeting of “It’s not half driech”, he announced he is off to the South of France for the summer, “tomorrow”!

And the mist got thicker as I said, “I’ll miss you”.

So I came inside and phoned a friend, but he didn’t have the answer. He lives nearer the sea than me and after we shared a dreich greeting he said, “I can’t even see the sea, I miss it when I can’t see it.” Then he told me of our dear friend who’d died that morning and we agreed, “He’ll be missed”.

And the mist didn’t miss me and hit the wall.

Aye, it was a dreich day yesterday!

 

Age? A Mere Bagatelle

Surfing Netflix last evening I found a documentary covering the Rolling Stones tour of South America then on to Cuba for their final concert. This was only days after Obama had visited, the first American President to do so in 80 years.
Even he knew he could not compete with what was coming, the most heartwarming, exciting, emotional performance ever, and each of the band well into their seventies.
When Keith Richards walked along the central isle to view the crowd and began crying, that was me done, or better to say, undone.
I could only be left thinking, there is hope and believing that Jumping Jack Flash is a gas!

Water o Leith

That murky auld water that carries the Pentland Hills to Leith is getting somewhat busier than usual these days.
Its banks hold lockdown escapees, leaning on railings, studying the overgrown undergrowth. Islands of ancient brick, wood and bush teem with broods of swans, ducks and mergansers. Seagulls fight the sky for space while kingfishers dart under bridges and otters dance between the reeds and rusting millrun gates.
Who’d have believed it, a world of wonder on an old murky stream.