IN my most mental moments, I’ve been bewitched by spiders, followed streams to their source, bowed to the moon and been cradled to sleep by the roots of a giant tree. I’ve roared my rage at the traffic rumbling on busy roads that slash the land, and gesticulated furiously at fighter jets startling the peace of the glens with their thunder.
RURAL Scotland is characterised by vast tracts of uninhabited land. Much of it is underused at best, neglected at worst. Upland grouse moors and deer forests, greatly expanded in Victorian times, create picture postcard scenery.
FOR countless generations, ceilidhs have been at the heart of Celtic life. On dark winter nights, tunes would be played, songs sung and stories told round the fire.
Panic can render the most technically competent people helpless. This observation came from a wise and seasoned teacher of mountain navigation. ‘If in doubt, stop in your tracks, stand still and breathe,’ he advised.
Waking up in psychiatric hospital on New Year’s Day is a sobering experience. To quote the post-punk classic Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads, ‘You may ask yourself: “Well, how did I get here?”’
From the day I discovered Transition, I was wedded to the idea. A pathway from fretting and frustration to positive, practical action, an approach “more like a party than a protest march?” Brilliant!
