I was going to start this sentence with the word “so” but I caught myself just in time. So I started it with “I” instead. And that’s as it should be. We jump out of the van at quarter to four and the dressing room is so unpleasant I immediately strike out in the June drizzle, walking a scenic path uphill towards the castle through tall mature trees where I am cawed at by a crow, accosted by a female blackbird, peered at by a squirrel and surprised by couple of rabbits. It’s like the start of a children’s book. I reach the old graveyard near the summit and remember being here in the 1980s but for what reason I can no longer fathom. Just a jolly, possibly. I recognise a weird marble statue of an angel and children encased in a bell of glass. It’s the Martyrs Monument according to the website. It’s creepy and vulgar, like light entertainment.
After the check I go out hunting for scran and settle on a Greek place which looks basic and locally owned and delivers on that promise. The tinny bell of a nearby church rings six o’clock and I take its cue to leave. I tramp uphill in the murk through pretty winding cobbled streets stopping under a tree to get out of the rain beside a little bagpipes shop. As I climb the last bend before the castle plateau a crowd of sodden tourists comes round the corner led by a piper in full regalia, honking away at his chanter with vigour. It’s Scottish to the max. I enter the graveyard from the opposite side from earlier as the rain eases and the birdsong rises. The cloud lifts a little and the Wallace Monument appears like an old-fashioned idea of a rocket ship poking out of a rich green thicket. Before I descend I park on an iron bench and listen to pigeons clearing their throats as the leaves drip themselves dry. I can hear the main road below washing back and forth and in between the cosmos of pinpricks that is summer birdsong hangs in the air like a veil of contentment.
6 Responses to “Stirling”
My boss and I both write copy for our website, and he often starts his sentences with “So”. It makes me want to pluck my own eyes out. Rather than do that, I log back in when he’s finished and edit under the guise of self care.
Being handed a wedding dress on your first day in Barlinnie….not the best way to start a sentence. So !
I f***ing hate people who start with “so”..but then I’m an old git who misses proper football and proper songwriting..which is why I’m waiting in the Isle of Wight drizzle for the Dels..not short for Derek (fed up of explaining that one to knobs)..a catalogue of tunes that puts all the other acts to shame..but then I am a moany old git..anyone remember Derek Hales?..he was proper.
Nothing says rejection and sadness than a cool weegie who wears leather breeks in a desert for a video ! keep up the good work JC.
Alison has been stalking you since the Oran Mor gig !
Need your heart and soul to see my sister leave this planet in a good send off.
Greatest fan in Balloch, is there a possibility of a 1 hour booking from your wonderful self. Monies immaterial!
Yourself and acoustic!
Super please 💚
So….I passed you as you went on your travels from the Albert Hall. I so wanted to declare my undying love, share my DELirium but alas your eyes remained fixed on the ground and I didn’t have the heart to be another star struck fan. I enjoyed every minute of your 90 minute set last night, loved the song additions from the Perth gig and I am excited about your gig tomorrow at the Barrowlands. I will keep going back..the fuse was lit over 32 years ago.