Thursday, February 01, 2007
....or 'the gate' in English. I am fascinated by the remnants of old sheep-gates you find throughout Shetland, where old fences have rotted away...they tend, for some reason, to be on the edge of cliffs. This has prompted various flights of CS Lewis/George Macdonald/Tolkien- type fancy concering their possible use as gateways to another, even more magical world. What happens if you take a flying leap through one of them?
Not tempted to find out other than in the world of the word processor. Anyway, this one is above the glorious beach of Burnside, not 20 minutes hard walking from our house, on the way to the Republic of Eshaness. Where, this week, the splendid Braewick Cafe was open for business to co-incide with the Lerwick Conflagration, or Up Helly Aa. (which is obviously not as good as the Northmavine one on 16th February - which would you prefer, burning your viking longship in a town centre playpark, or at sea? - but obviously good for the tourists.
Posted by Tom Morton at 10:22 am