Post by moose on May 19, 2009 0:17:33 GMT -5
My Uncle dropped me off at Loch Talbert and I walked the length of the Argyle Sound in an afternoon. On the beach. On an angry day. From the lake to the RAF base. The sky was grim and savage when he left me. The rain was starting and the wind was already full of torture and pure mean.
"Ach d'nae worry, tis a good walk. A feen beech. Mind, d'nae leave the beech. Upland ist full fine of tinkers and gypsies. stick yer curse and follah the sea. I'll meet ya at the pub in Camblton. D'nea keep me watin'."
I humped that beach like a prom date. The tide roared at my ankles. Fishermen's nets washed up on shore looking like the mourning veils of giant widows. . I saw the bloated corpses of two sea lions. Mighty kings the North Sea had rejected. The skies emptied on me and shone on me and the whole of creation screamed for my doom and i laughed as the rain pelted me. And I saw not another person. I walked it all hard and fast. And yet I saw it. It was as alive as I have been. I was a pale king and prince of Scotland.
The pub in Cambeltown is as perfect a place as the town. A small fishing villiage screaming seconds away from the RAF SAS/SEAL training base at Machrihanish and yet entrenched in the 18th century. A thing from my imagination.
My Uncle is well in by the time I get to the pub.
"Ach. Nae bad time. A good wee walk no?"
"It was fucking amazing", I say, exhausted but thrilled.
"Aye. Aye...Pint o' heavy and a nip for our man here ....Da ya ken what this crazy cunt did today", He says to the Landlord, "You'll no believe it..... ".... They all have a good chuckle.
The bastard.
"Ach d'nae worry, tis a good walk. A feen beech. Mind, d'nae leave the beech. Upland ist full fine of tinkers and gypsies. stick yer curse and follah the sea. I'll meet ya at the pub in Camblton. D'nea keep me watin'."
I humped that beach like a prom date. The tide roared at my ankles. Fishermen's nets washed up on shore looking like the mourning veils of giant widows. . I saw the bloated corpses of two sea lions. Mighty kings the North Sea had rejected. The skies emptied on me and shone on me and the whole of creation screamed for my doom and i laughed as the rain pelted me. And I saw not another person. I walked it all hard and fast. And yet I saw it. It was as alive as I have been. I was a pale king and prince of Scotland.
The pub in Cambeltown is as perfect a place as the town. A small fishing villiage screaming seconds away from the RAF SAS/SEAL training base at Machrihanish and yet entrenched in the 18th century. A thing from my imagination.
My Uncle is well in by the time I get to the pub.
"Ach. Nae bad time. A good wee walk no?"
"It was fucking amazing", I say, exhausted but thrilled.
"Aye. Aye...Pint o' heavy and a nip for our man here ....Da ya ken what this crazy cunt did today", He says to the Landlord, "You'll no believe it..... ".... They all have a good chuckle.
The bastard.