Following the forgotten half-mythical Molendinar Burn leads the Glasgow Chronicler and I into the heart of Glasgow’s gangster edgelands.
A short grubby true tale of a window, exhibitionism and Patsy Cline
The motorist rushing along the A914 through central Fife would have to be especially sharp to notice the small sign for and the anonymous dirt track that leads up to the hamlet of Cults and its hidden church, the Cults Kirk.
The line of abandoned buildings lay on the other side of a field of stubble. Access to the buildings was an easy matter of wading through nettles, brambles and overgrowth and hopping through an open window.
…and the lessons I learnt in the process.
Fife is rife with ruins, green fields and contradiction. Its dramatic entrance hall, the Forth Bridge, somehow encapsulates much of its inner nature, except perhaps for the matter of golf.
Reeling through the history of a famous London market and the campaign to save part of it from commercial development.
One of the great joys of the autumn season are blackberries, or brambles as they are known in Scotland and north England.