Sea Grass

To quote an old favourite song "I always go back to the sea" as it's always a huge source of inspiration...

Shoreline

"Listen to the silence. Be still and let your soul catch up." We all need some breathing space sometimes ...

Solstice

Is this a door to the past or the future? Tomorrow is always a new day...

On the Rocks

Revisiting one of my favourite subjects, and one of my favourite places, it was a very windy day when I saw this...

Eilean Donan Sunset

The drama of the Scottish highlands with fire in the sky...

Wish You Were Here

The hills of home are calling. I've been away far too long...

Castaway

On the Moray coast, the winter storms can uncover many treasures...

Peacock in the Park

A painting to commemorate Clive, the peacock in the local park who inspired the name of my one and only art exhibition in 2013 - Scotland and Peacocks...

Saltire Peacock

Be Scottish.  Be Proud as a peacock...

Scotland in Peacocks

Meant to be working on something else and suddenly got the urge to draw a map of Scotland using peacock butterflies. As you do...

Ragged Rocks

“Roon’ an’ roon’ the ragged rocks the ragged rascal ran” ...

Western Isles

White sands, purple hills, vivid seas... and no midgies this way...

North Sea Oil

An essential part of the Scottish economy but also an environmental bane...

Merry Dancers

It wasn’t until I went to Orkney that I found out the islanders call the northern lights the Merry Dancers...

Gateway to the Kingdom

An unusual view of a very popular landmark, The Forth Bridge...

Sunty McClaus - A Doric Christmas Poem

Here's Sunty McClaus o' the clan McClaus!

D'ye ken him? Weel, I hear

He's a cousin o’ thon Christmas loon

Fa's sleigh is pu'd by deer.

He's got a pal called Frosty Jock -

a mannie made o’ snaw.

Wi the kilt on and a tammy

he's lookin awffy braw!

Thigither they hae loads o’ fun

and get in trouble deep,

But they aye come oot the ither side

on their sledgie pu'd by sheep!

Ae Christmas Eve the phone rang.

Sunty’s cousin “You Know Who”

was near dane his deliveries

fan he'd cam’ doon wi’ flu.

"He needs a haun" said Sunty,

"he's left our bit tae last..

But oor sheep ar’nae magic

And the sledgie isnae fast!"

"But even though" said Frosty Jock

"We’ll hae tae help yer freen.

Get him to drap the presents aff

somewye in Aiberdeen.”

So aff they went wi’ sledge and sheep

tae pick up a’ the gifts.

They trauchled through the snaw and ice

for it wis noo blin’ drift.

Then roon’ and roon’ the hooses

Sped the little crew

Dishin’ oot the parcels

Til they were left wi’ two.

A tin o’ funcy biscuits

And a baggie fu' of neeps

Were treats for Jock and Sunty

And the hungry little sheeps.

There also wis a notie

"Keep these gifts for yourselves!

With thanks for all your help tonight,

from Santa and his Elves."

So that is how Sunty McClaus

(wi’ help fae Jock and sheep)

Saved Christmas for the local bairns

Fan they were a’ asleep.

The Downfall of Dixie McAlpine

This poem was the result of an extraordinary conversation on a windswept St Andrews beach - to understand it fully I guess you had to be there....

A hard man called Dexter McAlpine

(a self-styled hood from Dundee)

Was reading The Scotsman one morning

When a photo made him spill his tea.

The headline read “Journalist Missing!”

And the face in the picture below

Was someone that he had “done work” for

In St Andrews not 3 days before.

As he read further into the story

“Our Dixie” (as Dexter was known)

Let facts in his head come together

and he let out an audible groan.

Dixie knew that the man had been digging

up dirt on a gangland “event”.

He'd written up all of his findings

and a package to Dixie was sent.

He'd wanted the stuff to be hidden.

The instructions to Dixie were plain.

“Put it somewhere that no-one will find it

But where you can get it again.”

So Dixie had taken the package

And hidden it well, so he'd thought,

In St Andrews bus station's left luggage,

in a locker that someone else bought.

But here this mad journo was missing

And the main thing that worried Dix now

Was that gang members kidnapped the pressman

And would link him to Dixie somehow.

In panic he tried to think clearly.

The evidence he must get back

And dispose of it properly this time,

before the gang followed his track.

An early trip up to St Andrews

With no one around, plotted he,

Then gather up all the damned paper

And dump it this time in the sea.

So next morning off went Our Dixie.

The evidence bag was retrieved

And carried down hill past the golf course,

where into the sea it was heaved.

Dixie stood at the wall of the seafront

Watching papers float off on the tide

Then, trying to act nonchalantly

He walked to the beach, where he spied

Two men at the top of a sand dune,

A heavy load weighing them down.

They threw the sack off the high sand dune

Then headed off back up the town.

Our Dixie stood frozen in horror,

Mind racing with what it could mean.

Two men. Empty beach. Missing pressman.

Heavy sack. Breakfast time. Murder scene?

What to do? Where to go? Had they seen him?

Were they looking for him? Did they know?

Dixie ran from the beach in a panic -

What to do? How to act? Where to go?

Dixie boarded the bus at the station

And headed back home in a state

Where he packed all his clothes in a holdall

Then left the house by the back gate.

No one know what became of “our Dixie”

But the headlines the next morning read

That a journalist who had been missing

Had been found on a beach. He was dead.

With Apologies to Mr Burns

Wee sleekit, loupin' scuttlin' moosie

Fit are ye deein' in my hoosie?

Rinnin' up and doon the flair,

Ahint the table, 'neath the stair.

Foo did ye get in come tae that?

Or were ye ta'en in by the cat?

There's ae thing sure though. There's nae doobt,

Ma wee moose pal, ye're gaun back oot!

So jist ye bide and dinnae move

Until I get the box and glove

(For I've been bitten ance afore

Tryin' tae get mice oot the door.)

I chased ye roon and roon the place

Til I am purple in the face

An' sweering like a Glesga scaffie

Because ye ran intae ma baffies!

But noo I hae ye in the box

And ta'en ye ootside (in ma socks!)

I'll say “fare weel, wee sleekit moose

And bide awa' fae oor big puss!”