"The Kindness Of Women ( Poems)"

More obnoxious self promotion to start the new week.

My humble little volume of poems, titled as above, is now available as an ebook on Amazon.


Here's a sample:


  THE MEMORY PEARLS


The necklace breaks.
The pearls scatter
and, somehow, it isn't enough
for her to know that,
though lost for a while,
they are still nearby


She wants them all back,
the moments and memories
and those who made them.
She wants them all back,
secured together and shining,
before her dazzled eyes.

S.N.P.: THE SHAME OF SCOTLAND

Usually, I do some preparation for my postings which means sitting in a Dundee Café drafting it out before committing it to print but this morning, at the start of a new week, and sitting in one of the aforementioned cafes (Café Borsa...the best in Dundee, if you ever visit!), I read an item in my newspaper which had me rushing to my computer post haste.

 Now, I shall put my cards squarely on the table. I do NOT want so called independence for Scotland. I have no trouble, whatsoever, being Scottish and British. The English and the Scots have rubbed along very well for 300 years and so, why fix what isn't broke. Scottish Independence will take things away from me and not add a single thing to my life.

 Anyway, where previously I had thought of the S.N.P. as a bunch of whinging malcontents with a few nutters in their midst, what I read this morning shows how sinister and megalomaniac S.N.P. they truly are!

 They propose to provide a state appointed "Guardian" for every child from birth to the age of eighteen. The arrogance is breathtaking. Even Hitler and Stalin didn't quite get round to this. On the basis of there being a few dead beat or abusive parents around they want to have a presence in every family home that can be activated by nothing more than a malicious neighbour with a grudge. Decent parents (the vast,vast majority) could find themselves in some nightmarish, Kafkaesque court scenario.

 The S.N.P. have given assurances that there will be plenty of safeguards to protect the innocent but with their past record that is no comfort whatsoever.

 Couple this with the fact that Kenny Macaskill (that's the genius who freed the Lockerbie bomber) wants to do away with the need for corroborative evidence in Criminal Court Cases and you can see that the outlook for democracy in Scotland does not look good.

 It breaks my heart to think that the country that gave the world Robert Burns, Adam Smith and the Declaration of Arbroath is governed by people such as Alex Salmond.

 

 

Alex Salmond

 

SELF PUBLISH..............SELF HELP!

As a struggling self publishing author you don't expect another writer to make things more difficult for you - still less one lucky (?) enough to have been picked up by a conventional publisher,  but that's just what this year's Costa Book prize winner has done. At least that's what I think.

  In one of those Q and A pieces in a national newspaper he was asked what he was currently reading. He mentioned a self published novel which he seemed to be enjoying but then said that self published novels were always a risk. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Why should they be any more of a risk than a conventional novel? It's about time this unfair prejudice was dispensed with once and for all. Why should writers not take full advantage of the wonderful technology now available? OK there are some egotists out there who just want to see their name on the cover of a book but, I believe, there are many, many more thankful for even an outside chance of finding an audience for their work and a way of circumventing the unpredictable and erratic ways of mainstream publishing. These are the same publishers who lavish huge advances on the likes of Katie Price and footballers who decide they would like to have "a stab" at writing kiddies

  Many of these publishers seemed to follow whatever the prevailing fashion happens to be - whether its misery memoirs, chick lit or the tendency to publish 600 page novels when the material only warrants half of that.

  You are probably much more likely to come across an "original voice" in the self published world and there is the excitement of a personal discovery when you do. The self published author does not have the burden of producing only what he thinks his master - sorry publisher - believes will sell. If his material only fits novella length he does not have to force it into the shape of a full blown novel.

  I, personally, know of at least one author (of 20 novels standing) who took back all the rights to his books and is now self publishing. He got fed up with the fact that his particular publisher did nothing to promote his considerable body of work. Others have left publishing houses because they were being forced into a creative straight jacket and were being expected  to continually pump out more of the same.

  I have been lucky enough to get 5star reviews for "The Balloon Man In Edinburgh" on Amazon and I am unapologetic about self publishing. The way I see it, if I am spared, over the next few years I hope to bring out several titles, written according to my own personal vision and, maybe, I will be picked up by a conventional publisher but, as long as I can build up even a modest, loyal readership, I don't care if I don't. Freedom as a writer is much more important to me.

  And another thing, print on demand self publishing is much more eco friendly. Supply and demand is much more in sync. No having to pulp hundreds of unsold books.

HELLO AGAIN

2013 was a truly horrible year for my family. I will write in more detail about this at a later date. The one bright spot, at the very end of the year was the paperback publication of my first book - The Balloon Man In Edinburgh - a comic novella set in Edinburgh. It was out as an ebook some months ago but there is something specially exciting about holding your own book in your hand. Hope this becomes a long lived piece of Edinburgh Fiction

  It got excellent reviews on Amazon and I am now busy thinking of strategies to promote  its sale in bookshops. After the sorrows of last year its good to have something positive to think about so, perhaps you will forgive me for blowing my own trumpet. Am hoping this is the start of a real writing career.

 At the moment its available through Amazon in the U.K. Once again sorry about the shameless p-lug and happy New Year to you all

  If I haven't tried your patience too far click on the code below and read the reviews and the first two chapters for free. Thank you.

  John R. Nicoll



http://www.amazon.co.uk/Balloon-Edinburgh-John-Robertson-Nicoll/dp/1907527206/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1389376009&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Balloon+Man+In+Edinburgh
 

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET

(for my dear friend Lyn Clements)

Was that you I saw last night

on the other side of the street,

wearing a far away smile

and light on your feet?

Was that you I saw last night,
untouched by Autumn  cold?

All heartbreak in the past

Now  the story's been told 

Was that you shining back at me

between the street lights and the cars,

suddenly so young again,

as untroubled as the stars?

I wrote this before I heard of the death of my
beautiful and gracious friend, Lyn Clements.
I hope she doesn't mind my presumption
in dedicating this to her.

John R. Nicoll

My comic novel, The Balloon Man in Edinburgh, is available

on Amazon. To rerad the reviews etc. please click on link below

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Balloon-Man-Edinburgh-ebook/dp/B008NXTYXK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352385112&sr=1-1

STARBUCK'S

And the prize for toe curling, nauseating, self righteous, put you off your ginger latte hipocrysy goes to Starbuck's right out of Seattle.
  These are the guys who like to see themselves as the model for modern, caring corporate life. They are all for saving the Rain Forest and drenching you with their self proclaimed righteousness from the moment you walk through the door with their point of sale advertising telling us what they are doing to save our world.
  What they are NOT doing is paying taxes commensurate with the fortune they are raking in off our High Streets. They may, indeed, be making some small difference to the health of the rain forest but if they paid the taxes they should be paying a sane rate of tax they could be helping to pay for the health care for some of the inhabitant's of this country who have been lining their pockets for years but, through their convoluted accounting procedures which would make the average seem as straight as an hb pencil, they have contrived to pay an absolute pittance on the profits they have sucked out of the U.K
 They are not the only corporate bandits playing this game but they are all over our High Streets so the fact that they are so "in our face" makes their bare faced impudence all the more unbearable.
  People might argue that they create jobs etc. but if they closed all their outlets tomorrow and stormed off in a huff, rival British based outlets such as Costas and Cafe Nero would take over most of their shops AND pay their taxes. They have only gotten away with this because our useless politician's are either fawning over big business or letting them get away with "murder" - a happy medium is not a familiar concept to them. But owing to the press furore something may just be done this time and then we can go after Google and all those other other corporates who would rather control than serve. I would not advise you to hold your breath though.
 Just wish I had been a customer then I could have satisfaction of boycotting Starbucks!

My comic novella, The Balloon Man  In Edinburgh is available on Kindle from amazon

see below

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Balloon-Man-Edinburgh-ebook/dp/B008NXTYXK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1350908658&sr=1-1

 

SCOTLAND'S SOUR LITTLE SWEETIE

I love my country but sometimes I weep for it. Scotland has given the world Robert Burns, one of the greatest  lyric poets ever, Adam Smith, the towering intellect behind "The Wealth Of Nations", and William Wallace, a beacon for freedom lovers everywhere.  Down the centuries Scots have spread across the Globe benefitting many other countries with their business acumen, inventions and, like Adam Smith, their influential ideas.

  Now, though, our country is being increasingly tormented by a bunch of moral and intellectual pygmies masquerading as politicians in the Scottish Parliament in Holyrood in Edinburgh. With very few exceptions they are small people with no great ability and even less vision. They are "seat warmers" whose greatest ambition (this is particularly true  of the increasingly dictatorial Scottish National Party) is to keep drawing their salary whilst poking their grubby little fingers into every area of people's lives, no matter how private.
If they have an aptitude for anything it is for arrogance and impertinence and right at the moment the chief culprit is the Deputy First Minister, Ms Nicola Sturgeon.

  Ms. Sturgeon is what is known in Scotland as a "nippy sweetie". Loosely translated this implies something that seems rather sweet but that can turn rather sour and bitter if you get too close.. Ms. Sturgeon is not so much a politician trying to serve her countrymen (that would require a modicum of humility and the lady does not do humility) more of a hectoring schoolmistress or a sort of toxic "den mother".

  Her current obsession is enabling gay couples to marry in Church. Nanny......sorry Ms. Sturgeon says:
"We are committed to a Scotland that is fair and equal...............we believe it is the right thing to do!"

  This is despite the fact that 64% of the people who responded to the Scottish Parliament's Referendum on the subject ( that's 3 times more than the people who responded to the referendum on Scottish separation from the U.K.) were against gay marriage.

 Many rightly fear that clergy who do not agree with the proposed changes could be prosecuted for refusing to marry gays in Church. Sturgeon has made airy claims that the law will be amended to prevent this happening but she must know that she has no power to keep that promise.......even if she ever intended to.

 The European Court Of Human Rights has said that while gay marriage in Church is not a "Human Right", if any Government gives gay marriage the "green light" then gays must be allowed to marry in Church. Still, "the nippy sweetie" insists in making her unkeepable promises.

 A recent survey came to the conclusion that less than 2% per cent of the overall population are gay. Probably half of them are never likely to want to marry in Church anyway and so, for the sake of 1% of the population, she is willing to snub 64% of it. This is State aided tyranny of the minority. It is manifestly NOT democracy.

 Gays are NOT persecuted in Scotland. They have huge freedom and if they so desperately want to be able to marry in Church is it not feasible for them to form their own denomination?

 Most people who balk at the reforms could probably be placated if gays were told that if they could find a Church willing to marry them all well and good but it is this element of compulsion that alarms and religious groups quite rightly see it as an interference too far. What price freedom of belief now?

  "Belief" - that is the key word. Ms. Sturgeon and too many like her have no discernible beliefs other than their own right to power and their own rightness .............see again Sturgeon's self serving quote. They pride themselves on dragging Scotland into the 21st century but if clergy go to jail for their beliefs is that not dragging us back to the 17th.

 She and her ilk, holed up in Holyrood, that coccoon at the bottom of the Royal Mile, have become more and more distanced from the lives of ordinary people who are in no way homophobic. Looking for "brownie points" from the militant gay lobby will do the general gay population no favours at all.

  I don't give much for Scotland's future if it does break away from the rest of the U.K. If Sturgeon and her kind have their way they will turn Scotland into a nasty little neo Stalinist P.C. riven state perched on the edge of Europe. Adam Smith, that hero of the great, and truly liberal, and outward looking, "Age Of Reason" must be spinning in his grave.



On a happier note

Don t miss Buster while he is in town!!!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Balloon-Man-Edinburgh-ebook/dp/B008NXTYXK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348241196&sr=1-1

HAL DAVID: AN APPRECIATION

In any word association test the words "easy listening" could be followed by the words "Bacharach and David". That would be understandable but it would also be to sell these two song writers short.
  Together, they wrote at least 700 songs that encompassed everything from songs for at least two Classic Westerns ("The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" and "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head") to the jaunty "Magic Moments" (their first big hit in 1958 and recorded by Perry Como) to the haunting, plaintive Alfie.
  Bacharach's melodies were original, fresh and wonderful but it was surely David's sometimes witty, sometimes plaintive but always elegant lyrics that put the proverbial "icing on the cake" Lennon and Mc Cartney were cool, Dylan was social conscience in song but, when you really think of it,  it was Hal David who voiced, for the rest of us, the joys and sorrows of 20th century relationships. He did so with consummate skill and his unique brand of urbane American style that travels so well.
  He was, as a lyricist, every bit the equal of Lorenz Hart, Cole Porter, Johnny Mercer and for that matter - Noel Coward. Is there any better depiction, in popular song, of the misery of rejection than "Walk On By" ? Part of us would like to express those sentiments if we found ourselves in that situation but pride or a lack of eloquence prohibits us. Hal David puts it all succinctly into words though, so we don't feel isolated or foolish for feeling our hurt.
  David looked on song writing very much as a business but it might be more appropriate to say that he was a craftsman whose tools just happened to be words. Lyricists, like their poet cousins, know the value of economy and precision and the need to fashion a line of a song skilfully enough for it to carry the weight of a world of meaning. David was easily up to the mark.
  There are many good lyricists in the world but not many Hal Davids. He managed that great feat of saying profound things in a simple, though never facile, and heartfelt way.
  Hal David's lyrics helped prove Noel Coward's remark about the potency of cheap music - except for the fact that there was nothing cheap about them.


My modest effort: The Balloon Man In Edinburgh is available as an ebook from Amazon. See link below.

5star reviews   "a little gem"!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Balloon-Man-Edinburgh-ebook/dp/B008NXTYXK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1346773309&sr=1-1

P.S. It's not a childrens book!

EPIPHANY

A

Well that's it then! No more self delusion. No more beating about the bush. I have
at last faced up to the truth and, in doing so, the proverbial weight has dropped from

my shoulders!

  My small Epiphany came up a back street in Aberdeen - no, dear readers, this is
not going to get sordid!!!  I was engaged with my "day job" of selling advertising space
in small local publications on a commission only basis. Things were not going well. In fact
they were not going at all, so I adjourned to a bar to get off my feet, quench my thirst and to
review the situation.
  I got more of a review than I bargained for. The truth has a way of grabbing you by the scruff
of your neck and dragging you where you don't necessarily want to go. It wasn't just this lousy
day, it was all the other lousy days. There have been two many others where I have traipsed around all
day for what amounted to, as they say in the U.S., "chump change".
  At my age EVERY wasted day is a crime. I have been doing this work to buy me time to
write - but it has done no such thing. I waste time and energy and I barely make enough to cover the expenses.
 Also, I have a bum leg which makes hours a day walking a real problem. By the end of a
working day I am hobbling along like Quasimodo on one of his "not so good days!" So, enough,
sez I.
 I am going to cut my living expenses to the bone and concentrate on writing. I have a part time
job taking disabled children to school. It only takes about an hour of my time a day and I might
just manage on what I get from that alone. Time will tell.
  I think I have made a fair start to this belated writing career. I have a short comic novella set
in Edinburgh out on the ebook format. If it goes well I shall bring it out in printed form. It has started
to sell modestly and already got 2 five star review - snippets of which appear below.
  I have set out an ambitious writing programme which includes another Edinburgh set novel and
a series of Private Eye novels - a little out of the usual - set in Glasgow.
  Well ambition is a fine thing but the "proof is in the pudding" and time alone will tell.
Wish me luck - please. I shall keep you posted. Maybe my "writer's epiphany" will bear worthwhile
fruit, after all!

THE BALLOON MAN IN EDINBURGH - REVIEWS


"Funny, sad, poignant - a beautifully written novella. Quite an achievement"
Catherine K. Favali


"This novella is, indeed, one of life's little gems.......discover this fact
for yourself"
William G. Neill

The photo is of The Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh where some of the action
takes place.

ebook available from Amazon

Link for The Balloon Man directly below



   http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Balloon-Man-Edinburgh-ebook/dp/B008NXTYXK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344957462&sr=8-1

SAVED BY DOLPHINS

Apologies for the gap in my posts (might have been a relief for some though). I am afraid that I do not even have a good excuse. It's not as if I have been doing anything particularly exciting - like travelling the world or single handedly saving the rainforests!
  No, the days have just drifted by in that inexorable way that they have. I have drunk a lot of coffee, stared out of coffee shop windows a lot, watching the world go by (mind you, that bits O.K. as it's one of my favourite pastimes).  You can get too much of a good thing, though, and so I decided to reconnect with the big bad world again.
  There I was, wracking my brains looking for something to write about. I was "all at sea", floundering in the waters of non-inspiration when, quite unexpectedly, dolphins swam to the rescue and nudged me to the shore. Aren't extended metaphrs wonderful?
  Seriously, though, I was greatly cheered and jolted out of my lethargy by a story about the aforesaid dolphins in my local newspaper. Every year in May they visit the mouth of the River Tay and can be seen from Broughty Ferry where I live - only this year they didn't show up.
  I regarded this as yet another piece of bad news to add to the avalanche of bad news - Syria, the failing Euro etc that has hit us all recently.
  However, I needn't have worried. They arrived safely in June, (hence the newspaper story) playing around their favourite haunts and generally cheering the locals up.
  And now a tiny bit of the world has been set to rights again!

LEAVING THE MOMENT

The thought
of letting this moment
slip out of my grasp,
of surrendering it to time,
might just be bearable
if it could be vouchsafed
that each time I return to it,
down through sullen years,
it has not yellowed,
like old newsprint,
become foxed, fogged or tainted
with the aura of dead things.


Grant it, instead
the vibrance of a shard of glass
and let me forget that
each time I look
that shimmer and sparkle
will lead me on
to the inevitable wound





John R. Nicoll

THE COLOURS OF CHRISTMAS

One of the things that springs to mind when I think about childhood Christmases is the vivid sense of colour associated with them.
There is the red of Santa's tunic, green for the Christmas tree and, of course, what every ten year old's heart yearns for at this time if the year, great expanses of white outside the window - as long as it STAYS safely on the other side of the window.
Some of these colours had a very personal resonance for me. There's red again. Cherry red in fact. The colour of the first, and only, car that I have ever owned. It was a sporty little red pedal powered number that was my pride and joy until I was too big to get into it.
I still get a thrill at the thought of my first, clandestine, sight of it as, on Christmas Eve, my big sister lifted the blanket under which it was hidden in her bedroom. the moment I caught sight of that long, red bonnet I fell in love - truly, madly, deeply. I knew that I would be travelling in style from then on. Admittedly, it would only be up and down the garden path and round my Mother's "Greenie Poles", but a chap has to start somewhere.
There is another colour, though, that resonates even more potently in my memory of those long ago Christmases. One of the decorations that hung on our tree was an odd purple object that looked not unlike a prune. I could never quite work out what it was meant to be but my mother assured me that it was very old and had been bought long before I had arrived on the scene.
I used to watch it, fascinated, as it gleamed under the Christmas Tree Lights. It seemed, somehow, in the unfathomable depth and richness of its colour, to have stored up all the happiness of past festive seasons. I was in awer of this misshapen bauble and I am pretty sure that I did not "ping" it, the way I did the other decorations, for the childish pleasure of seeing it swing back and forth. I didn't want to break it and endanger the continuity the line of Happy Christmases.
Of course, now, all those years later, I realize that those colours only remain so vivid in my mind's eye because of all the things that they were associated with. The colours of those childhood christmases were only given their depth by the efforts made by my parents on behalf of my sisters and I; the presents under the tree, the stockings full of tins of toffee that we occupied ourselves with in the early hours of the morning before we could get to that Christmas Tree. Most of all, I realise now, that it was a stable, loving family life that added, year by year to the bauble's glow.
Inevitably, as time goes by, Christmas loses some of its vividness. We get blase. We grow up? We read cynical, supposedly humorous articles about dreadful office parties, terrible T.V. "Specials" and about how the columnist never wants to clap eyes on another mince pie in his/her life. Ho. Ho. Ho. All very funny - but not very fulfilling.
This Christmas, though, I find myself having much in common with my former self. I am not actually getting ready to climb into my little red racing number but I have much the same sense of excitement as I look forward to my first Christmas at St Paul's Cathedral, Dundee, the Candlelight, friendship and the soul tingling mysteries of this time of year. I have been attending the Cathedral since February and it has turned my life around!
Along with faith, friendship and fellowship are the true colours of Christmas to all of you of all faiths - and none.

HOME SWEET HOME

I like my home "town". It suits me very well indeed. I have lived in both of Scotland's biggest cities and in the lovely countryside near to the English border but here, I can honestly say, is the only place where I have been acutely aware of a Sense of Community and so, because I believe good things should be shared, I am inviting you to a little tour of Broughty Ferry.

Up until 1911 Broughty Ferry was a town in its own right then, much to the chagrin of its population, it was incorporated into the nearby city of Dundee.

The main business of the place used to be fishing and in the nineteenth century more than 80 fishing vessels were based here. Even among the humble fishermen there was a hierarchy. Those who fished for salmon further up the River Tay were the Princes of their profession.

There was another hierarchy at work in the Ferry. The poor and the humble, such as the fishermen I have just mentioned, tended to live very close to the shore in cottages or, sometimes, lean to shacks, while a few streets back, lived the middle classes and white collar workers, such as school teachers and shopowners.

Further back, and high up on Reres Hill, lived the rich in their Mansion Houses that looked down condes- endingly on the rest of the community. Some of these houses bore spectacular witness to the wealth of their owners, many of whom were Jute Barons who owned factories in nearby Dundee.

One owner, who owned a particularly beautiful house (its name escapes me) commissioned an ornate painted ceiling from one of the leading FRENCH Artists of the day. After the building was torn down the whole ceiling was moved, lock, stock and barrel, to the store room of a museum in Dundee, where it remains to this day - unseen and unappreciated.

The first railway line in Scotland passed through the Ferry but, long before the railways, there was the Stagecoach and in King Street there is still a reminder of that long lost world. The Eagle Inn which is still operating was a staging post and did a good trade sustaining the weary traveller with food and drink.

Being on the Coast, Broughty Ferry has often been touched by the Shadow of War. Broughty Castle, which stands near the mouth of the River Tay was a military garrisson as far back as the days when Napoleon was Britain's biggest worry and during the second World War anti aircraft batteries were stationed on the beach.

Much further back than that, French troops landed on the beach on their way to help the Scots fight the English in nearby Dundee.

Nowadays, though, apart from the odd "punch up" outside one of the bars at the week-end, its a quiet place. The yachts from the local yacht club are often out on the riover, people walk their dogs along the beach and the remaining houses of those old Jute Barons look benignly on the rest of us.

As I said my home town suits me fine. Basically, everything I want and need is within walking distance. As an added convenience, I live right above one of the oldest pubs in this area. The Occidental Bar is a fine old, traditional Scots bar where you can meet people from all walks of life. it has its very own cast of "characters" and when I want a bit of company I look upon it as an extension of my living room!

THAT JAVA JIVE!!!!

All my adult life coffee shops have been very important to me. I write in them. I read in them and, as regular readers of this blog will know, I have been known to form relationships in them. I cogitate, ruminate, meditate and (once or twice) mediate in them. Sometimes I even drink coffee in them. They are a basic essential of my life.

Some years ago, before the arrival of the big Coffee Chains in this country, I lived in Edinburgh. There was a great variety of places to drink coffee and watch the world go by in that great City then. Everything from the rather elegant Coffee Room at the top of Jenner's Department Store which looked out over Princes Street Gardens and which was, in turn, overlooked by a looming Edinburgh Castle perched high on its forbidding mound of rock, to the little Italian Cafes out in the "sticks".

My favourite place, though, The Laigh, was right in the centre of town. You went down some steps from street level and into a long, narrowish establishment with a varnished wooden floor and long plane tables and bench seats on either side. On shelves above head height were displayed brass pots, pans and other kitchen equipment from a bygone age, although I always had the suspicion that some of the older clientele could remember them being used.

The walls were wooden panels of a sort of honey coloured hew that glowed when the sun came out. It wasn't the most luxuriously appointed establishment that I've ever been in but it suited me just fine. It was owned by an elderly actor called Moultrie Kelsall who was a bit eccentric and had an honourable, if not scintillating career on Stage Screen and T.V. I chiefly remembered him from a guest role in a black and white series called Doctor Finlay's Casebook which was a national institution for a while.

One of the most attractive things about this place was the variety of customers that walked down those steps. You could find yourself chatting to everyone from an office worker to a business man, an actor or a prostitute! I chatted up the lady who was to be my partner over a chocolate cake one afternoon as I said all the right things about a new pair of shoes she had bought - and was extremely pleased with.

Believe me, I clocked up a good few hours in The Laigh. I like to think of that time as my "Bohemian (some say unemployed) Period" and I'd sit for hours in conversation with eccentrics, amateur philosophers, tub thumpers, nut jobs and, once in a blue moon, someone of true intellect and insight. I may have been a burden on the British Taxpayer at the time, but at least, I was learning. A lot of the ideas that are the mainstay of my world view were formed then.

Although, in most things, I favour independent businesses over national or international chains, I have to admit that Coffee Chains pretty much give someone like me everything they want. You can sit for as long as you like and think wonderful thoughts. If you happen to be in a strange town the sight of a branch of your favourite chain can be very comforting - like a little bit of home away from home. Like your own living room.

I prefer writing in coffee shops to writing at home anyway. It's a less lonely and less sterile atmosphere and if you get stuck with something you forget the laptop for a moment or, in my case, put your pen down. You watch the world go by and, usually, the magic works and your temporary block vanishes as quickly as Spring snow.

The best thing about Coffee Shops though - let me whisper it ladies - that someone wonderful will walk through the door and the only available seat will be at YOUR table. So, if you are passing by my local, come in and make yourself known. The coffees are on me - and perhaps a piece of chocolate cake. Just don't ask me to like Starbucks!!!

JANE HAINING (SCOTLAND'S OSCAR SCHINDLER)

I have been fascinated by this largely forgotten heroine since I first heard of her and I am now engaged in researching material for a play that I would like to write about her.

Jane was born in the last years of the nineteenth century in a little village called Dunscore in the South West of Scotland. She was a more than able pupil at school, becoming Dux (top pupil in her year) at Dumfries Academy.

After a career in Commerce she went on to train to be a Missionary and secured a position as Matron of The Church of Scotland Mission School in Budapest.

She was home in Scotland on holiday when World War 2 started and, against the advice of family and friends and her bosses, she went back to be with her girls.

She was gassed in Auschwitz on the seventeenth of July 1944.

At one point Jane was made to sew the Star of David onto the clothes of the children in her care.


POEM FOR JANE HAINING


The stars fell out of the sky
and, if you could have done,
you would have gathered them up,
one by one,
and stationed them once again
in their rightful quarters
and, as before,
their shining would have shamed
the darkness around them.
But, instead, they made you
sew them into all those
little coats and dresses,
forcing you to chain
all the bright and shimmering
to the dull clod
of a poisoned earth.
Then, at the dying breath
of that great evil,
just when hope -
fragile as a Spring flower -
broke ground,
you were sucked into the maw
and in your presence
the darkness all around you
was shamed into nothingness.


John R, Nicoll.

AUTUMN

AUTUMN

Every year I clutch
at the last of those colours
before the inevitable fall
into the long white day,
and every year I fail,
for my porous memory
will let them all leach away.
It is then I remember
that green is the only colour
I need register in my mind's eye.
Through the long, dead days
I shall wait for green's return.
Green is the colour of faith.


John R. Nicoll


I am having trouble leaving comments on my own blog, would you believe. I'll get the hang of it some day. In the meantime I would just like to thank Pearl, Suz and all of you for your comments - particularly on the last posting.

To Sledpress: You are absolutely right. There are a lot of very dodgy men out there who just use people for their own amusement. I'm also not denying that other people have been treated in a far worse manner. I don't take drugs and I don't believe in counselling (some of the most screwed up people I have ever met are, or have been counsellors), unless its for something serious, so I am using these postings as my own self prescribed therapy. I am trying to make sense of it all myself. As you get a bit older these things affect you more acutely and I would just like to get it all in perspective and, hopefully, find someone who actually is who she says he is.

The Trouble With Adrienne should follow shortly and, as you will see, things get even more confusing. Thank you all very much. You've restored my faith in women. Hope you don't think that I am being patronising - cos I certainly don't mean to be.

J.R.N.

THE TROUBLE WITH ADRIENNE*

Meant to have the article I have been meaning to write ready for you by now. But it's proved to be a much more complex affair than I had reckoned on.

Better that it's right than quick, though. I want to be absolutely fair to the party involved and I would like to obtain the maximum cathartic effect for myself. I'll try not to keep you waiting longer than I have to.

If that doesn't have you dry mouthed with suspense nothing will!!!!!!!!!!

*Not her real name but its close enough.

John R. Nicoll, Dundee (The Hospitable Scots Bachelor)

P.C. OR NOT P.C. PART 4

If you've been following the P.C. or not P.C. strand you may well be glad to know that, for once, the machinery of bureaucracy has coughed and spluttered and lurched in the right direction.

That's my ham fisted way of saying that I have once again been assigned as a school escort to the same little Asian boy that I was escorting last year.

I picked him up the other day and he was ready, face washed, hair combed to within an inch of its life and ready for his new school - or at least as ready as any school boy ever is for anything to do with school!

I'm glad it worked out this way. I'm glad for him. I'm even more glad for me. I'm sure that he will appreciate a little continuity in his life. I know that I do.

I'm a big fan of continuity myself. I know that nothing stays the same for very long in this life but, lately, change has seemed to become a religion in certain quarters. Often it is change for changes sake - or, as we used to call it, FIDGETING!

How nice if things can continue in the same way - at least for a while.How nice if you can bask a little longer in the warmth of a friendship or enjoy a comfortable situation. Why must this world insist on dragging us along by the scruff of the neck? What's the hurry?

My young friend shows me his new toy car. He grins. He giggles when I call him a twit. Then he looks out of the car window to see the world roll relentlessly by.

Again, I ask, what's the hurry?

THE RECOVERY

THE RECOVERY

This poem was written for a dear friend of mine. She is brave, talented, kind hearted and one of the best "advertisements" for Christianity that I have ever met. Her friendship means more to me than she can probably guess"


Demi-Lazarus,
she rises from that hospital bed
and the years of half-life
that, nevertheless,
could not extinguish
the embers within.

Now, with every kind impulse,
those embers glow again;
the cards at Easter,
the bringing of strangers together,
prayer and poetry.
This heart shines outward.

The road rising
is sometimes a mountain, but,
though bone weary,
frailty is matched with grace.
The embers are fanned.
The flame is returning!


I'm having trouble placing comments on my OWN blog, would you believe? - you would if you had any idea of my computer incompetence. So, here's a special message for:

Pearl

Thanks for all your comments Pearl. Like the lady in the song: "You're a darn nice girl"!

and Suz

I've got some sympathy with your views Suz. There are not many likeable characters. Daisy is the sort of woman most modern women would cheerfully slap and her old man is a Yob - no less so for being rich. But Gatsby - at least he believes in SOMETHING. The bit that moved me almost more than any other bit of the book was where they find, after he is dead, the note to himself about the regime he must impose upon himself if he is to achieve his goal. The fact that his goal would be unachievable to any mortal being (see last page) makes his story all the more moving. "Come back, come back, oh glittering and white" - indeed !

I plan, in due course, to do a posting dedicated to explaining why I love the book so much. Maybe I will even convince you. Take care ladies xxx.

P.C. OR NOT P.C. (PART THREE)

This is another story about the little Asian boy that I took to school and said goodbye to about two weeks ago. It's in two parts, so I hope that you will bear with me!

FIRST PART
A couple of days ago I was enjoying a coffee in a place up town. I had just come from Church and was ploughing my way through The Observer (not my favourite newspaper) when snippets of conversation from the next table began drifting into my consciousness.

They were all the harder to ignore because the person who was doing most of the talking had one of those voices which was not so much loud as penetrating,if you know what I mean.

Her voice was bright and shiny with enthusiasm. The snippets and slivers of conversation came thick and fast. She was into some sort of Virtual Reality scene and was proudly regaling her companions with the status of her Avatar. Am I getting this right?

The Avatar was apparently a person of great virtual importance (we've all met a few of these in THIS world, haven't we?) The Enthusiast actually came out with the immortal line, "I'm the third most important person in my imaginary world". If I was going to go to the bother of creating an imaginary world I'd make b***dy sure I was THE most important person in it but as it is, I have enough problems with reality, so there!

This world, no not THIS world, the imaginary one (try to keep up) was apparently a dangerous and demanding place. There were Ogres, Monsters and Dragons and what have you lurking around every corner. Dastardly things had to be done to ensure survival.

"I've just realised", said our Enthusiast", to stand a chance of surviving I might have to kill my own son!"

I felt myself rapidly approaching "people slapping mode" so I tuned out and returned to The Observer (it has its uses).

Fast forward (what a relief), to:

SECOND PART
A day later I am going home on the bus. The little boy I said goodbye to a couple of weeks ago (see previous postings) was in his wheelchair across the aisle and accompanied by two of his carers. He had just come back from a Fun Day Out and the sheen of happiness was still evident on his face. Suddenly, he frowned. "Will you be taking me to my new school?", he asked.

I reassured him that they would find somebody nice to look after him and his face relaxed back into that teddy bear smile.

For the rest of his journey he would look over occassionly and the big brown eyes would sparkle in a reprise of that smile. He seemed confident that, at least for the moment,everything in his world was as it should be and I, at least for the moment, was glad for him.

As the bus rolled on I thought, again, of that idiot world I had heard about the day before. One thing was certain the Ogres, Monsters and Dragons that this little boy will have to face will be real enough. They will come in the form of the humiliation he will soon feel at still needing nappies. They will appear in the form of the unthinking cruelty (and worse, the conscious cruelty) of those more fortunate than he. And, later, when others find girlfriends they will come, again and again and again.......

But I have seen the light in his eye and been close enough to sense the strength of his God given spirit. There will be many battles ahead and he may not win them all (though I pray that he does) but, he can be sure of one thing, those he does win will be REAL. They will not be locked away in some, dark and dank and unseen Virtual World. They will be out there shining for ALL with the eyes to see.

May God bless him and watch over him on his journey!


If you have any stories to tell or subjects you'd like me to cover or any personal heros/heroines that you would like to draw attention to, you can contact me on:
johnnicollendeavour@yahoo.co.uk Thanks