Random thoughts from a trip to Scotland that put a few stereotypes in their place. Then again…

Three Verses.

Old Angus.

‘I’ll not pay two pounds,
I’ll pay one pound fifty;
Mean as it sounds
I’m keen on bein’ thrifty.’


Talk Of The Stockbridge Tap.

They say the Scots are very tight
But that’s not what I found,
They thanked me generously last night
And all I did was stand a round.


Some See The Stars/Half Empty?

Is auld Dunfermline not an intoxicating sight?
The impact of these ancient walls, so profound,
Old stained windows remain a dark architectural delight,
The rusty crusty iron-barred door indominatably solid and sound-
I’m still pounding the old bars at dawns first light,
Dunfermline not forgotten despite all the pints I downed.


Done With- Dunfermline leaving its memory on those lucky enough to enter, if not the flower of Scotland, at least Fifes wild and wonderful flower.

Dunfermline Athletic.

We arrived at our destination, an X slashed upon the map,
I expressly thanked the conductor and stepped across the gap,
We alighted with a spring on their step and a song in our heart,
Our highly anticipated walking tour of Dunfermline was set to start!

We stumbled on the home of Andrew Carnegie, my wifes mothers namesake,
Long rumoured to be ‘loosely’ related but I think, a mistake,
When I looked for a family resemblance I certainly cain’t see any,
And, in relation to his fabled riches, her family never saw a penny.

Who knows where rich ‘Uncle’ randy Andy sowed his seed?
For any poor bastards left behind he saw no care nor need.

Our ramblings found Dunfermline Abbey dispiritedly closed;
Gods servants in Dunfermline seem most meanly disposed,
This day not many of Gods faithful flock were out to be seen,
In fact, any friendly faces looked far and few between.

But High Street was delightfully awash with cute vintage boutiques,
Everywhere you turn you’ll see quaint old curios and antiques,
HERE’S where Dunfermline’s well-heeled dowagers come to shop till they drop,
Daily doing the run down from Sallys to Oxfam till the dear old clogs pop.

It’s been a winding forking road my long lost Carnegie’s had to roam,
So isn’t it ironic she returns and finds charity begins at home?

We ambled on and up the bustling hustling High Street,
There’s where the young of the congregation choose to meet,
Sadly all the hoody-clad catatonic faced kids have to peruse
Is Total Sports diverse display of kick-ass trainers and running shoes.

As we stepped ’round ’em one interrupted both our conversation and stroll
Asking if we could spare a bob or two for a poor downtrodden soul?
It’s to our discredit (and credit card) we could offer him no change
But walking away I took away the feeling of something passing strange.

The click-clack of our feet down Canmore Street rang hollow,
But it made no sense at all in turning back, if you follow…

At about outside the Alhambra Theatre we commenced power walking-
Only in Dunfermline could we three be seen as worth stalking-
By the hill nearing the station we hit a slippery slope,
Let’s say that’s the reason our trot turned into a lope.

Towards the sanctuary of the station we put in a final burst,
All three of us would be losers if we didn’t come in first,
Panting down the tunnel, pounding down the final straight
All knowing missing our train could, sadly, leave us late.

I’m glad my Doc put me in good heart at my last health check,
But I wish I’d kicked smoking, with ’em breathing down my neck.

I thank my wife, the Lord and Virgin Rail for our e-pass,
And the fact the conveyance we leapt aboard had safety glass,
I flashed my credentials at the stationmaster to the disgust of our following,
Getting our asses safely out of Dunfermline sure was a close run thing.