I am writing this from a small seaside cottage in the highlands, a howling gale outside which the local sheep seem indifferent too. I went outside to see the waves and far off islands like Joan anticipating her doomed marriage in my favourite film I Know Where I'm Going! Before I was blown away I scurried back inside to more woodstove, to more coffee and lime marmalade on toast, more Daphne du Maurier and George Orwell.
Loved this - the hands snatching mock-torturedly out of the mini-Barbican! And the genius of proferring the chicken coops as your fave takeaways … hollyrood reminds me of my family when we once went on a horse trek around Loch Lomond (!) led (no doubt, I can’t recall) by a prissy roastbeef faced maiden, who stopped us trotting even and made us wear hard hats. Fuck the uk! Love the pic of postcards
I feel like you could have swam to that castle and killed two birds with one stone.
Loved this - the hands snatching mock-torturedly out of the mini-Barbican! And the genius of proferring the chicken coops as your fave takeaways … hollyrood reminds me of my family when we once went on a horse trek around Loch Lomond (!) led (no doubt, I can’t recall) by a prissy roastbeef faced maiden, who stopped us trotting even and made us wear hard hats. Fuck the uk! Love the pic of postcards
The brutalist castle is tremendous. I’ve never seen that before.