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Fashion matters, even at 91

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Jessie’s a remarkably stoical old lady who has had to tolerate some terrible blows in recent years, yet time after time she grits her teeth and picks herself up.

I brought her some new clothes yesterday. It took just ten minutes to run round the shops and choose the cardigans and blouses I guessed she’d like then take them to the care home where she’s staying. I thought she’d smile and be pleased but could never have imagined her pleasure in the prettiness of the patterns or her sheer delight in trying on new clothes.

It usually takes a lot of concentration for her to heave herself up to a standing position then slowly shuffle behind her “zimmer” to the communal areas, but yesterday she was up and out of  her room in a shot, looking for people coming down the corridor, smiling and desperate to show off her favourite new outfit to the other old ladies and carers, then basking in their compliments.

Never believe that fashion doesn’t matter.

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The breaking-in begins

RIP the old faithfuls. Some big adventures loom for these babies this summer and my feet need to get acquainted – fast!

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Back in business

Ask me anything you like about Megahertz and bits, wav files or dynamic mics. I’m an authority on XLR versus the other plug-in-connection-things. And as for audio interfaces and MS-mic widths? Well….it’s all in the manual.

I spent today in the dark commercial lair of dedicated DJs and music men, buying recording gear. I’ve used borrowed equipment for the last few months while I tested the market and now I’ve invested in my own work toys. I’d forgotten how much I love being in radio; the research, interviewees, recording, editing and then listening – in trepidation – to the broadcast.

It’s good to be back in business.

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Naked hills and empty glens

 

The remoteness was exhilarating, but last week’s hills were lonely and lifeless. I walked away from the wilderness more anxious than ever about the desolation and destruction we’ve imposed on these fragile places.

The brutal beauty of the rocky mountain tops remains stark and true. Up there, beyond 3000ft, where the ice and weather have gnawed and eroded,  it’s harsh and dangerous and there’s a grandeur to the bare crags and peaks. They evoke awe and respect; they’re tougher than us.

It’s the empty, treeless expanse  below the tops that worries me. On the green slopes, in the soft, broad glens,  beside gentle lochs and Highland rivers there should be more than the tattered remnants of ancient Caledonian pines, more than an empty greenness where only deer roam. There should be  animals and  birds. And trees.

Much of the land that stretches across wild Scotland  hosts little wildlife and no natural woodland. It’s often assumed  trees simply won’t grow on the poor soils, but in the bogs you see the roots and remnants of strong trunks and branches preserved in peat. And in steep river ravines or on inaccessible islands – places that the sheep and deer haven’t been able to graze – the birches, rowans, pine and other native species take root and flourish. The photographs of the tiny lush islands against the degraded land that surrounds them tell the story.

These places have been slowly dying from overgrazing for 200 years but we’ve become inured to the desecration. We walk to the echo of boots on paths and the occasional ricochet of a rifle. It’s what we expect to see and hear, along with the burnt strips and squares of heather on grouse moors; the preserve of the game birds, wealthy landowners and their foreign clients.

Scotland has the most concentrated pattern of private land ownership in the developed world. Just 432 families account for half of all non-public land and a handful  – “absentees” who don’t even live there – own hundreds of thousands of acres. Since Victorian times they’ve “managed” this land for their fun; the occasional forays north for “sport” – deer stalking and grouse shooting. All that matters to them are plentiful herds of deer and coveys of grouse. Everything else can wither and die.

There are some enlightened places where natural regeneration is now taking place, and beavers, sea eagles and red kites have been reintroduced to wails of protest. But the efforts of the green owners, which are often conservation groups, are a drop in the ocean and opposed at every turn.

At long last however there’s a glimmer of hope that our Government might be taking the situation in hand. Land reform is on the cards in Scotland and landowners are slowly wakening up to a new world where they no longer hold all the power and the mismanagement of our most precious resource won’t be tolerated.

My new boots won’t last long enough to walk through a more natural order but I’m confident that the monoculture, and the influence of the landed minority that enjoy it, will eventually wither as surely as the Caley Pines and wildlife they condemned to near extinction. Our landscape deserves it.

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