Breath of Fresh AIr

Yesterday was a day when a lot of cobwebs were blown away. As compared to Braco or Inverness, East Lothian was pretty fortunate with few trees or power lines down and no main roads blocked. Elsewhere, most ferries and trains were not running and Argyll was effectively cut off, even from the internet, and at a standstill. Add in the ash cloud from Iceland that closed airports and Scotland was struggling to keep business as usual.

But this is not that unusual. We get hammered by storms on a regular basis‚ it’s just not normal to happen in late May but with the jet stream running well south of its usual path, low pressure vortexes are being catapulted our way with a dusting of Gromsvotn ash to add insult to injury. Last year the wind was in the East when mountainous seas on top of a storm surge and spring tide wrecked dinghies at North Berwick, blew a hole in the road outside of the Goth and shredded east-facing beaches.

But a year on and there is little but memories of that storm-of-the-century. Yesterday’s “don’t remember it this bad” gusts that reached 100mph in Stirlingshire must have been hell to experience but, apart for the unlucky van driver in Balloch, it’s mostly slates and branches and the occasional dented vehicle. Compare us with Missouri where a tornado cut a path six miles long through the town of Joplin, killing almost 100 people, wrecking hundreds of homes and businesses and making the town centre “look like a war zone”.

Kick into the equation that most of the planet that doesn’t suffer tornados or typhoons or hurricanes gets earthquakes or avalanches or droughts and you start to appreciate that we get off fairly lightly here, the occasional horizontal rain at Force 10 notwithstanding. Look on yesterday as a breath of fresh air that turned our street litter problem into Denmark’s.

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Whistlestop Tour

Proof that the man did not let me down—although even His Eckness was unable to persuade enough of those thrawn Panners to see the light!

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Sneak into Summer

I know it’s not officially summer until June 21st but I’ve never been one to follow the book if it made little sense. The glorious weather—and especially the endless light—of late May and early June deserves to be considered summer in Scotland, not least because it lets us see our country literally in a new light.

Yesterday I caught a jaw-droppingly inane made-for-high-numbered-channels TV show called Real Wives of Orange County. In it, overly made-up women jostled for points in materialism and aspired to leave the endless sunshine of their home (just south of LA). Endless sunshine sounds great but, after six months of it and being unable to walk on the searing pavement in bare feet, it gets old fast. Also, its palm trees, shopping malls, tract homes always looks the same, no matter what time of year. We’re really different.

I won’t argue that our dark January is a joy but at least the sledges come out once in a while and there’s a real cosiness when you get back in to stoke the fire and wrap hands around a mug of tea. But this time of year, go for a walk at 4am. The sun’s up, shining at new angles that lights the place up making it seem different, birds are hammering away and it’s as if the whole world is up & running just for your entertainment.

Same thing around ten at night: the sun dips but seems reluctant to go to bed, swinging away round to the North to shine across the Forth from behind the Lomonds. Go to the tropics to watch a sunset and twilight lasts about 45 seconds. Here, the gloaming lasts best part of an hour and a month from now, the sky over Fife never gets properly dark. Especially on those still evenings, there’s a hush, glassy water laps at the shore and each lighthouse flash streaks a bright path across the water to you. It’s so quiet you can hear the gulls squabbling on the islands and the eerie throb of a passing freighter far out in the Forth. Forget the calendar: this is summer. Enjoy!

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Busted!

Now that the election’s over, there’s little need to alert the Red-Tops but this evening one of my little secrets was blown wide open on BBC4. Alice Roberts (of Coast fame) had a new programme on Wild Swimming in which she explores rivers, tarns, rockpools and caves as more exciting places to go swimming. I have never explored the Wye or Dart or limestone caves as she has done. But where once I thought clandestine aquatic thrills were my own little secret, but even if BBC4 is barely mainstream, the word is out.

Before I had ever heard of Alice’s guiding guru Roger Deacon or his book Waterlog, I had been sneaking off to explore stretches of wild water. If I could snag a boat or canoe to do so, that usually only part satisfied my curiosity. I would want to return to explore in and under the water, as well as on. It started as a child off when I found kelp beds off Platcock and crannies in the Red Leck on North Berwick’s East Beach so much more fascinating than the pristine outdoor pool. It continued with the rocky coast, varied lagoons and lively rivers of northern California while I was there.

Wild swimming is neither sociable nor cosy, often involving cross-country scrambles, often at odd hours and needing a wet suit as protection against the cold. From North Berwick the river/lake options are limited; the lower Tyne has some fabulous unspoiled pools and wildlife but the Peffer’s too muddy and Pressmennan too small. But the coast has endless possibilities. East of the kite surfers at Gullane Bents, Eyebroughy, Fidra, Lamb and Craiganteuch are all reachable from shore (best at slack tide in neaps—never on a flood/ebb or in springs). With snorkel and mask the inshore either side of North Berwick is full of kelp forests to explore and a seaweed garden in the West Bay is as colourful as any on land. Just leave the creels and the ropes that link them alone, although a sneak peek at the catch is always worthwhile.

So Alice & BBC4 have blown my cover. My dark little secret is out, how I splash off for some aquatic relaxation, often when sensible people are in their beds. But watching the moonlight dance across the water from a darkened town while bobbing off the Maidens is one of my more unusual and vivid memories. Seems like, in future, I may just have to share such glories with other people.

Fidra from the North: notice kelp beds along the western shore & ridge leading SW off the South Dog

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Brothers in Spirit, Not Deeds

Despite my mother’s best royalist efforts, I have long been a Republican—a state of affairs reinforced by 15 years among our American cousins who have built a pretty impressive country on the proposition that anyone can be anything they choose. But this conviction is repeatedly undermined by the 85-year-old lady currently visiting Eire. Throughout my life, she has not only been a class act as Head of State but has shown a dedication and unflappable consistency that elicits unqualified admiration and keeps confounding my republican leanings.

This week, she is at it again, raising the ante by being the first British monarch to visit Eire. And when she laid a wreath today in Dublin’s Garden of Remembrance, it was an act of groundbreaking diplomacy and sheer humanity. For this is not the Irish National War Memorial where the 300,000 who fought and the 49,000 who died in British uniform are still remembered.  An Gairdín Cuimhneacháin is dedicated to “all those who gave their lives in the cause of Irish Freedom” starting in 1189, up through the Easter Rebellion of 1916 to the 1919-21 skirmishes—in all cases struggles against British rule. As an eloquent act of contrition for past wrongs, there can be few equals to this simple ceremony. And if the only casualty of this historic act, this gesture for a better future is my republicanism, then I am well satisfied.

But, as I reflected on this, what satisfied me more was a realisation that what sets us Scots apart from our close Irish kin is we have no Garden of Remembrance. In the last hundred years, from Keir Hardie’s hopes, through the stillborn Liberal bill of 1914, the Covenant, the Claim of Right and our reconvened parliament, the cause of Scottish Independence has moved from dreams to the verge of reality. And, proud as I am of the growing band of patriots who made that long journey possible, nothing compares to pride I feel that all this has been achieved without the loss of one single life—possibly even no serious injury—and that we Scots have no need for any Garden of Remembrance.

Long may it remain so.

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Raising the Game

Over to the closest yellow splodge of the new map for the pleasant task of convening the AGM of the Midlothian Council SNP Group (currently in opposition) and re-elect office bearers to replace Colin Beattie who turned a Labour ‘stronghold’ into a 3,000-strong SNP majority. Never a chore to visit any of our hundreds of front-line councillors and see how they are to the fore in portraying positive hope and engagement across areas where Labour ruled so long they lost their way in petty power struggles and cronyism.

Midlothian is in fiscal difficulties, caused by the present recession that has reduced the money from government but also torpedoed a lucrative land sale that they been counting on to fund part of the revenue budget. As a result, corners are being cut and ‘savings’ made that are hardly sensible. A trivial but symbolic example: the double door entrance to their Dalkeith headquarters has one side marked ‘Push’ but the door is evidently broken. Their solution? Not to fix a busy door but to cover the ‘Push’ sign with packing tape and tack on a hand-written ‘Use Other Door’ sign.

A £180m operation with 4,000+ employees ought to be able to look professional. If nothing else, each new SNP administration formed next May needs to raise the game.

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Part of the Team

With the first weekend since the election divided between various celebrations and a sleep recovery programme, I have now had a week to take stock and the bouyant mood it has put me in surprises me some, especially as I had expected the ‘scunner factor’ to prevail. What has helped is a number of well considered articles, such as Iain MacWhirter on how the game has changed and Gerry Hassan’s advice to the Labour party. They have mostly been bouyant and forward-looking. Even the Mail’s Quintin Letts has been rowing in synch, albeit for hugely different reasons. As MacWhirter writes, there’s been a ground shift in the debate over the last week; it’s now up to the unionists to make their case.

That pleases me no end and allows whatever personal setbacks I suffer to been seen in the bigger picture. So having missed out on the multilingual investiture of MSPs. I must return focus to the North Berwick Coastal ward (no hardship—watching the kite surfers at Gullane and sampling the new seafood hut at NB harbour yesterday). But, knowing so many of both old and new SNP MSP intake, there are a slew of tasks that cross the boundary between local authority and parliament on which I could use such channels to address key local issues needing parliamentary support like:

  • Review of unsatisfactory FirstBus services and bus re-regulation
  • Securing funding and long-term support for Leuchie House and Edington
  • Provision of regular ScotRail services to Dunbar, integrated with exisiting NB services and serving a reopened East Linton station
  • Refocus of Scottish Enterprise to support country-wide SME opportunities, such as wildlife tourism, specialist local produce retailing and town-centre offices
  • Refocus planning laws to be less passive, especially as regards building complete communities (as opposed to just housing) and architectural context of infill.
  • Develop local renewable energy strategy, echeloned by scale to its context
  • Lobby the government to re-think Cockenzie for non-power-station use.
No doubt some of the above will be too ambitious for completion even within the extended five-year life of the new parliament. But there is a new, can-do spirit abroad and it would be a shame if it were not exploited for the good of the county, if not the country.
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Letter of Thanks

The following letter of thanks to the voters of East Lothian was published in the local papers today. I would also add thanks to all those who read this blog during the campaign and hope you found the content relevant and the prose more than just partisan.

“It is with mixture of humbleness and pride that I write to thank, through your pages, all the people of East Lothian, but especially those who voted to elect me as their MSP last Thursday and those who even thought about it. My humbleness comes from receiving the support of a record 12,385 SNP voters who believed in my positive vision of a county made prosperous by low-impact tourism, quality local produce and town-centre business revival. I thank you all for recognising the politics of hope.

“My pride comes from knowing how many more than the wafer-thin 151 majority swithered before making their decision; the sixth-highest turnout in Scotland indicates just how hard-fought this seat was. Yet the conduct of my opponents through five hustings and many weeks of campaigning was a credit to them and to democracy. I am sure that many outside the Tories will regret losing Derek Brownlee fiscal contributions. Equally, Iain Gray’s decency might help end four years of denial by his party. I hope they can now embrace constructive opposition and twig how far up a creek and remote from Scottish public opinion Labour has paddled itself under remote control from Millbank and Milliband.”

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Medieval Management

Among the laudable intentions of the newly minted SNP Government is to tackle an institution that controls over half of Scotland—the Crown Estate. The half that they control is one that people have paid little attention to until recently: the wet bit. In an earlier blog about exploiting our seabed, we pointed out that Scotland is much larger than England…if you count their seabed too.

Map of UK Seabed. Note the Scotland's Share is over Twice England's

Originally (and rather arbitrarily) assigned to the ownership of the king, our entire seabed and most of our coastline passed to parliament (now the UK Treasury-controlled Crown Estate) when the Civil List deal was cut with the monarchy on the accession of George III. It has a portfolio worth £6.2bn (mostly in England) and turns a profit of £210m each year.

A good part of that profit comes from leasing our seabed. Starting with £75 for a fish farm back in the ’60’s, there are charges for anything attached to the seabed all the way from a mooring buoy to an oil rig. They don’t actually DO anything for the money other than issue bills. With huge our huge potential for tidal, wave and offshore wind farms, much of the profit from such development will be siphoned off by the Crown Estate, a partner that does nothing but hold its hand out.

Compared to England, our marine resources are huge. But, rather than having this UK vampire sink medieval management into every foreshore and undersea development, the return of control of our seabed—in fact all Crown Estate property in Scotland (including Applegirth, Fochabers, Whitehill and Glenlivet estates) to Scotland—must be high on the ‘to-do’ list of our spanking new majority Scottish government.

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Celebrating History

On the evening of Friday May 6th, once the magnitude of the election results started to sink in, an SNP celebration event at Edinburgh’s Jam House was just the job to mingle with MSPs and activists and share the elation from events of the last 24 hours.

SNP activists and MSPs await the arrival of Alex Salmond at the Jam House

The following day (Saturday) a meeting of the SNP National Executive led into the gathering of all 69 SNP MSPs at the Holyrood MacDonald hotel prior to the photo call in front of the Scottish Parliament.

Chic Doig (SoS) with Kevin Stewart (Aberdeen Central) with Mike Russell behind

Bill Walker, Sandra White, Stewart Maxwell, Rob Gibson, Aileen McLeod, Paul Wheelhouse

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