En Route to Ayrshire

Writing this on the train from Newcastle to Glasgow: we’re to spend The Hols in Saltcoats. There’s a lot of gorse in flower. I’m beginning to become very fond of this journey: the Northumbrian coast is beautifully wild. Berwick’s unique. I like the way the architecture changes as soon as we cross the border. And the weather: the clouds descend and the rain starts just past Berwick: always. As if it’s saying “Welcome to Scotland! But it’s not all fun and hilarity up here, mind.’

Edinburgh’s wonderful from the train: a city built on sheer rock faces. There were some very glum looking trainspotters on the platform.

Enough of the travelogue.

One encounters some feckin tossers in these newsgroups, though, eh? OK, some of them, especially the Nazi trolls who write barmy things in upper case, are simply clinical cases. It’s the ones who are unnecessarily rude that give me the hump. NOT that I’m one for over-politeness or not speaking one’s mind, or suffering fools gladly. Far from it. If a thing needs saying, say it. But even in a place as gentle as alt.folklore.herbs you’ll get them lurking, waiting for some one to make some error of nomenclature, some trifling breach of web etiquette. Sad, really. But maybe it’s therapeutic: unleash their anger in cyberspace, and then maybe read a nice story to the bairns at bedtime? Let’s hope so.

Motherwell: better put the laptop away and compose myself for Glasgow. Hope I’ve time for a pint to say hello to the auld place as I pass through it, Ayrshire bound. I’ll blog some other time about the year Fiona and I spent in Glasgow.

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