Sober photography with an £18 camera.

 Four weeks aff it. Two of Sober October (unwillin’ to support Macmillan, but that’s a whole other story) and two of half-remembered September. Beery instincts appeased by a host of zeroholic brews from Beerhawk, Brewdog and a visit to the excellent Hidden Dram in Glasgow. And speaking of whisky, journalistic duties regarding tasting the cratur are being done via sniffing, micro-swilling and spitting. As in fact quite a few teetotal industry professionals do. Don’t tell anyone.

I’m sleeping better, when not disturbed by this old house’s rampaging mice. Eating (a lot) more chocolate and those deliberately addictive Swedish cinnamon biscuits you can only get in IKEA (and after consumption of which you find yourself mysteriously ordering van loads of meatballs, bunk beds, pickled herring, Poang chairs and tealights).

Two weeks to go until The Return of Duvel, and frankly I don’t feel any sense of deprivation. Harviestoun Wheesht  and Rothaus Tannenzäpfle are the best of the booze substitutes, though all three Brewdog non-alcs are pretty good. I really despise these so-called alcohol free spirits we’re being flogged at full, excise bound prices. Almost as much as I hate 90 per cent of all known fully electric gins. Energy? Maybe I have a little more. Blood pressure still too high. Better take some exercise.

So today I had a wee walk with Dexter the ADHD dog. And here are some pictures. These were taken with a Canon IXUS 155 compact I got off eBay for £18, with 8gb memory card. It has a monochrome setting which I thought might be interesting. Of course, it helps having Eshaness and indeed the entire Shetland Islands to wander around. 

From the Northern New Zealand to Infection Park

So what's it like down here? Everyone behaving?

Well, on the hottest day of the year I was aghast to read of a young female acquaintance, walking through a packed Kelvingrove Park in Glasgow (evacuated on police orders later in the day) who was hassled, cuddled and breathily harangued by sweaty groups of drunk youths. Albeit "good naturedly".

Unacceptable in any circumstances - yeah, even at football matches - but in the middle of a pandemic?

I've been given grief by teenagers for wearing a mask in the street (it's simply not possible to maintain a constant two-metre separation in an urban setting) though interestingly, I do (in the west end of Glasgow) see a good number of young (under 30) folk committedly face-covered. In supermarkets (I've only been to three, Big Tesco in Dundee, Wee Tesco in Glasgow, Medium Co-op in Ayr) I'd very roughly say the day starts with serious shoppers, about 50 per cent wearing face coverings, and that figure drops as time passes. One-way systems, hand sanitising and plastic screens for cashiers are not universal but usual (especially at Tesco). The only shop where I've seen any (not all) staff masked was the Co-op at Greenan in Ayr, which has been a lifeline for my elderly dad and stepmother. Who are doing OK, thank you, after some fairly major hassles.

Coffee shops and restaurants have been adapting at speed. On my single walk through Kelvingrove, it looked at one point as if every picnic group was eating takeaway pizza from Paesano. One top restaurant has turned itself into a street bakery, and flat whites with fresh pasteis de nata are available if you (socially distanced) queue at various hatches. And oh, are those tables and chairs on the pavement for sitting at? Goodness knows who put them there. Nothing to do with the cafe owners...don't mind if I do...DON'T PAT MY DOG!

From what I've seen, there's a significant, younger, dumber element who couldn't give a rat's arse about the pandemic (and to be honest, it's the same in Shetland with these 'secret' house parties and the like) who know they're unlikely to be badly affected and who are desparate to socialise exuberantly and carelessly. The old and the vulnerable, as ever, don't figure in their thoughts. There are older people clearly operating on either bravado or a resigned 'come-and-get-me' attitude.

In Shetland, in the Highlands and Islands generally, there's space to be apart. In the cities...well, frankly it's a miracle lockdown and social distancing has lasted and been effective thus far.

And there's a sense that everything is moving towards a fatalistic Belfast-in-the-70s, 1952-Farnborough-Air-Show attitude: Shrug, take precautions if you want, take the risk, get on with it. Second spike? Roll with it. If the over-60s have to die, well. Pass me a Capstan Full Strength and a large Grouse.

Or in my case, large amounts of vitamins C, D and omega three fatty acids, probably in vain. Don't forget the aspirin and Clopidogrel. Oh, and I'll have a double Respro activated charcoal cheery Bowie fishing boat mask as well. Possibly goggles.

I'm heading back north, if possible, at the end of next week. It will be a sorrow to leave loved ones but I know the tension of constant vigilance will lessen (and even in Shetland, I haven't been in public indoor spaces without a mask since the beginning of March). I'll be taking full safety measures and isolating for a fortnight after coming home. You won't see me on the boat. I'll be in my cabin, eating sour cream Pringles (it's a rule for sailing north).

By the time I get home, the tourists will have arrived.

𝘊𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘛𝘰𝘮 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘰𝘯, 2020. 𝘕𝘰 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘍𝘉 𝘖𝘒.

Sjusamillabakka, ebb and shoormal. Dawn pictures, 4 May 2020

I came across the word 'sjusamillabakka' through one of Robert MacFarlane's regular posts about language. It means the area of the foreshore between low and high tide, and he referred to it, intriguingly, as 'Shetland, archaic'. The everyday  Shetland word for the area between high and low tides is 'ebb', with the lovely term 'shoormal' (the name of both several houses and a well-known local band) being applied to where the tide reaches at its highest point.

No-one uses 'sjusamillabakka' today and few ever did. Those who did were fishermen, and it was one of the taboo words used at sea to avoid saying anything which could bring bad luck.

Anyway we live, arguably, in the ebb, in the sjusamillabakka. In the 1970s, at the freakiest of high tides, with a big swell and an easterly wind, out house flooded to a depth of almost a metre in the kitchen. Shoormal reached the top of the Rayburn.

Ours is a very old house, most of it being 18th Century. It's built on a spit of shingle, literally on the beach, Today, massive rock armouring protects us from another flood, along with a series of walls insisted upon by our insurance company. But the vulnerability, the sense of living on the edge of the land, remains. Always, we watch the weather. We listen for the sea.

I thought it might be an idea to document this borderline between water and island, seeing as I live right on it. Oddly, several years ago, I began making mixed media artwork and paintings under the name 'Ebb'. Some are for sale over on Etsy and more will be soon. I've recently started making more of these, and taking photographs (old Pentax K5, Samsung GX20 and an assortment of lenses, if anyone cares).

Which brings me to this morning, at 5.30am. The three pictures in this post were taken then.

"When days are few, life is very precious..."

I wanted to record what happened at Holyrood on Wednesday, 29 January,  just after five o'clock, because I fear nobody else will. 

It was a crucial debate which showed, at least in part, the Scottish Parliament at its best. But Brexit and the prospect of a Scottish independence referendum left the debate little noticed. 

The Scottish Government is promoting a “Shetland solution” to the issues raised as the blueprint for the whole of Scotland. It has allowed the Shetland Integration Joint Board, which is supposed to oversee aspects of health and social care in the isles, to come up with a response to this debate which seems questionable in both accuracy and practicality. 

(Pictures from Scottish Parliament TV. The whole debate is archived there and I urge you to watch it in full)

"When days are few, life is very precious..."

It had been a busy afternoon at the parliament. The small matter of a second referendum on  independence for Scotland was finally, after some huffing and puffing amendments, voted through. At which point the press, most of the public and a large majority of the MSPs departed to ponder, pontificate and have a pint or several of creme de menthe or whatever was on special offer in the members’ bar..

It was the 29th of January, 2020. Brexit was two days away. Shetland was in comatose recovery after Up Helly Aa. But in the blond-oak and cinema-foyer-carpet of Holyrood’s virtually empty debating chamber, the fever of partisan politics ebbed away. At about ten past five David Stewart rose to speak. The Labour Party’s Shadow Public Health Secretary, this was his motion but it had gained cross-party support. 

For the next 45 minutes, quietly, soberly, but with deep eddies of emotion swirling around the chamber, The Scottish Parliament dealt with death in a way that made our august representative body more meaningful, more relevant and, for the most part, more in touch with the realities of Scottish life than I have seen in many years. Even with just a dozen or so folk in the chamber.

At least, it seemed so to me. But then, death and dying - other people’s deaths, other folks’ dying -  are part of my life , as someone who spends a large chunk of time conducting funerals. And this bill had been promoted and pushed indefatigably by my wife, Susan Bowie, once the youngest qualified GP in Scotland and now one of the oldest still practising. My son Magnus was among the two members of the public watching from the gallery. So I was, and remain biased.

This is how the official minute reported what happened:

10. Right to Full Care to Die at Home: The Parliament debated S5M-19252 in the
name of David Stewart—That the Parliament understands that 70% of the population in Scotland wish to die at home; notes that many Highlands and Islands-based GPs are trained in palliative care that can support those who wish to die at home; believes however that not all areas of the region have charities or carers who provide “hospital at home care”, especially overnight, and notes the calls for there to be an automatic right for people to have full care at home day or night for their last few days of life, so that then can have their wish fulfilled by being able to die at home with suitable palliative care.

The meeting closed at 5.52 pm

But that doesn’t come near to capturing the quiet passion of what took place. Throughout there was a sense of heartbreak, a real commitment to care and anguish at its lack. One phrase continues to reverberate in my memory. It came from Labour MSP Rhoda Grant, who pointed out that the right to die at home was really about the right to live at home. “When days are few,” she said, “life is very precious”

Only right at the end, with health minister Joe Fitzpatrick’s declaration that a strategy and action plan had been signed off by the Government and by the Shetland Integration Joint Board, the uneasy social care-meets-health combo where the local council fights with NHS Shetland over unresolvable budgets, did things unravel. I have been a member of said IJB, and the idea that it is setting the course of end-of-life care for all Scotland seems, frankly, peculiar. 

Anyway. Back to Holyrood.

David Stewart

David Stewart began by quoting palliative care doctor Rachel Clarke. Once it was the case, she had written, we departed the world as we entered it, “among our families, close up and personal. Wreathed not in hospital sheets, but in the intimacy of our own home.” To be able to die at home, said Mr Stewart, “is a basic human right.” A lack of support meant that many people at the end of their lives, especially in the Highlands and Islands, were dying in hospital when what they wanted was to be at home. Investment in services to enable them to do so was lacking. And he quoted Dr Susan Bowie: “We want to be in our own most secure places, in our own beds, attended by loved ones. Unless health boards and social care are forced to do this by legislation, they may choose not provide this. And so home care services for the dying in Scotland are patchy at best.”

Mr Stewart went on to point out that parents had the right to choose to have their children at home, but the right to die at home was not enshrined in law. There was a clear policy gap, and he again quoted yon Dr Bowie person: “I almost dread someone asking to die at home at the minute, because we struggle to find the compassionate, round the clock care they need for the last few days of their lives.” Even close and caring relatives could not meet these needs alone. Mr Stewart called on the Scottish Government to include end of life right to die at home and the provision of care to do so in its palliative care strategy. He was warmly applauded, which is a Holyrood thing. None of that Westminster bellowing and stamping and throwing of order papers.

SNP Western Isles MSP Alasdair Allan spoke next, supporting Mr Stewart. While death was a taboo subject these days, that had not been the case in the past. Scottish literature was full of descriptions of families having “unabashed family arguments, in front of and in some cases including elderly relatives about the future catering arrangements which the family thinks adequate for that person’s funeral.”  Oven bannocks only! No crisps! Make sure you hide the good single malt and only serve that Aldi blended stuff! Or perhaps I imagined that.

It was, Mr Allan continued, crucial for the parliament to break this modern taboo. Seventy per cent of people he said, would choose to die at home. But in 2017/18, only 25 per cent of Scots did actually die at home. The Highlands and Islands threw up particular challenges both in the recruitment of care workers and the distances they had to travel. 

Beatrice Wishart, Shetland Liberal Democrat MSP and thus my own and Susan’s representative at Holyrood, then spoke. I have to admit that this was the first time I’ve ever heard Beatrice speak on any subject, anywhere. She has been caricatured by Shetland’s own satirist, Dr Jonathan Wills, as the 18th Century saint Beatrice The Silent.  But she spoke well. And clearly. 

 “Death comes to us all,” she said. “And like childbirth, everyone’s experience is different. It’s personal and it’s intimate. I believe that when someone wishes to die at home they should be able to do so. I know of people who have lived all their lives on a small island, but have been flown out in their last few days to hospital, to die.” While they received good hospital care, they were deprived of the support of friends,family and neighbours. Ms Wishart spoke about her own father, legendary newspaper editor and war cameraman Basil Wishart, and about how he had always felt guilt that he had not been able to fulfil his mother’s wish to die at home. She had died in hospital some 40 years ago.

“When his turn came, he died at home. That we were able to care for him at home was only because one of his close friends was a retired nurse, who supported the family through the practicalities of dying, along with a locum GP who administered pain relief. My father remained in good spirits right up to the end. It was a good death. And really that is what this is about, is it not? Ensuring that everyone has a good death, one that is free of fear, pain and suffering.” It also, she said, enabled family and friends to come to terms with the loss of a loved one.

Beatrice Wishart

Rhoda Grant, Highlands and Islands Labour MSP, praised the work of the Marie Curie charity and Macmillan, especially in the field of cancer. It was more likely because of these organisations that people with cancer would have the chance to die at home. Other conditions were not so well supported. Especially dementia. 

Dying at home was of great benefit to families in coming to terms with grief, she said, but the burden of care was sometimes insupportable by the family alone.

“When my father was in his final days it was his desire to be at home. That could not have happened without the support of health and care professionals who made themselves available 24-7. They should not have had to do that. There should have been better backup for them,. But I will be forever grateful that they did it.”

There was something poetic about the way Ms Grant spoke. And everyone watching and listening felt the power of those words: Dying was actually life, and it should be lived to the full as much as possible, in the place that dying person wanted most to be. 

“When time is short, life is very precious.”

Brian Whittle, south of Scotland Conservative member, also spoke movingly about his own relatives. His grandmother, who died in comfort and with excellent care in an Ayrshire hospice. 

“But then I thought about my grandfather, who was then of course living on his own. He was a wonderful gardener - he had this incredible garden in Symington that looked out over the fields, and he loved being there.” Mr Whittle and his father had visited and provided care every day as his grandfather’s dementia accelerated.

“Eventually he had to leave his house and go into a care home, where he ultimately died. What we’re talking about here is this right to be in an environment where you feel at home. The right to die at home. And I’m quite sure that if we could have done that, he’d much rather have been looking out over the garden which he had tended for decades.”

Monica Lennon, Labour, paid tribute to the many nurses, GPs and care workers who strove to provide care to people at the end of their lives, and in particular the Marie Curie organisation.

There was a vital need for investment to allow people to die at home as opposed to in hospital, she said. Everyone was agreed that there was a need for “a rights-based approach with dignified, person centred care at its core,” but there was a clear economic case to be made for encouraging the right to die at home. It was a proven fact, she said, that a community based model of care created efficiency savings, ”because it does reduce the  reliance on acute settings.” A community approach “makes sense on so many levels,” but it required investment on the ground. Voluntary organisations such as Marie Curie did a wonderful job, but they had to raise funds of their own.

Ms Lennon was the last speaker before the Government had its chance to respond, and she concluded with same commitment to cross party unity with which David Stewart had begun proceedings. Investment in palliative care and end of life care was crucial, she said, and she hoped “we can continue to work together to build on this consensus.”

So now what? What could the SNP Government say? What would it promise to do?

It was Public Health Minister Joe Fitzpatrick’s job to respond, thanking David Stewart and clearly moved, voicing his appreciation for the very personal stories that members had told. 

“This is not something I tend to do, and I’m not going to that. But I can say that particularly Rhoda Grant’s speech caused me to remember some close family members that I’ve lost and the circumstances around that. I thank those who have had the courage to share their own experiences.” He also praised Marie Curie for working in partnership with the Scottish Government “They’re amazing. I don’t know what we would do without them.” It was clear, he said “that we all want the same thing. For people to get palliative and end of life care that as far as possible respects their wishes and reflects their individual circumstances.” The Scottish Government had long been committed to “ensuring that everyone in Scotland can live with human dignity...and that includes providing care and support which is dignified and compassionate.”

“We seek to ensure that all individuals are treated with respect and dignity and that the human rights we’re all entitled to are upheld. We have to support a human rights based approach to all care, including end of life care, where dignity, compassion and respect are central to a person’s care and where people’s care wishes are respected as far as possible.”

Mr Fitzpatrick accepted that there were greater challenges in rural communities. But local councils and health boards were working to achieve these aims. 

And so we came circling back to Shetland, where it seemed the Integration Joint Board or IJB had the answers. This came as a considerable surprise to me.

“At the end of last year,” said Mr Fitzpatrick, “ the Shetland  IJB informed the Scottish Government that they’d produced a local palliative care strategy and accompanying action plan to improve the provision of palliative care in Shetland. That was signed off just last week. I’m assuming it’s not yet been published or if it is it’s hot off the press.

 This debate was important to that process, he said. The IJB plan “was not drafted in isolation but rather by frank reflection that there needed to be more options for people when considering what palliative care is right for them, and by listening carefully to the views of clinicians such as Dr Bowie, MSPs, the third sector and most importantly the local communities as to what they want from this service.”

 This could set the pattern for the rest of Scotland: “I guess that’s a blueprint as to how you should go about shaping services that other IJBs might want to look at. There is clearly much work to be done. I look forward to seeing how that plan in Shetland is implemented and progressed. In the future.”

And that was that. As I write, the Shetland IJB palliative care strategy and action plan is indeed hot of the press, so to speak, at least digitally. It’s available on the Shetland Islands Council website here: 

https://www.shetland.gov.uk/coins/submissiondocuments.asp?submissionid=24918

What does it say? Well, the agenda summary states it’s not specifically about the right to full care so that folk can choose to die at home. It’s about ‘end of life care’. And as Alasdair Allan pointed out at Holyrood, that covers the last six months of life. In 2018/19, it is proudly asserted by the IJB, Shetland “had a percentage of 94 percent of time in the last six months of life spent at home or in a community setting. This is the highest percentage of anywhere in Scotland, and consistently the highest percentage in Scotland since 2013/14.” 

But this is - how can I put this - bullshit. “A community setting” in this instance can and does mean care home or care centre, not just your own house. And if that missing six per cent is when the person actually died...well. 

The report itself is 40-odd pages long and starts well: Death and dying, whilst a natural part of life, can be one of the most difficult times for everyone involved. Having a good death is just as important as having good quality of life. 

“Whilst dying is inevitable, and universal, that is the only certain thing about it. So much else is unpredictable. It is therefore vital to offer people choice and control over the things that are important to them at this point of maximum vulnerability in their lives."

Then there are pages of graphs, tables statistics and stuff about person-centred care: worthy, possibly worthwhile, but woolly as a flock of unsheared sheep.

Under the title ‘place of death’, that six-month figure is brought out again. There is a great deal of talk about talking, about good communications, about people-centred self-chosen care. About openness and honesty. There are cosy and reassuring, social worky words. But the closest the document gets even to mentioning the right - the RIGHT to die at home, fully supported, is this:

“People, their families and carers (should) have timely and focussed conversations with appropriately skilled professionals to plan their care and support towards the end of life, and to ensure this is in accordance with their needs and preferences.”

This is not ‘the right to full care to die at home’.

And I go back David Stewart’s speech. He said this:

 “Parliament has rightly been praised for its legacy of policies on matters including free personal care, the smoking ban and minimum unit pricing for alcohol. A right to die at home could join that illustrious group of legacy policies that parliamentarians and constituents of the future could look back on with pride.”

A right to die at home. A right to live those final hours, days among your loved ones, in the place you chose. A right to expect the Scottish Government not to palm off decision making on an island IJB, but to take control and reflect the unity of that splendid debate.

A letter from Health Secretary Jean Freeman (Joe Fitzpatrick’s boss) to Rhoda Grant on 26 November 2019 refers to the Shetland IJB strategy  that “is seeking to build on the work of clinicians like Dr Bowie”: 

“One of the actions in the strategy is to extend the current model of on-call nursing to a waking night service using Advanced Nurse Practitioners working alongside care staff to provide support to people in the community. It is envisioned that this will be implemented by July 2020. I understand that the draft Palliative and End of Life Care Strategy is due to be formally agreed and ratified at the Shetland Integration Joint Board meeting on 28th November. I have asked my officials and Shetland IJB to share a copy of the strategy with you on publication. 

“Additionally, Shetland IJB provided reassurance that there are carers and nurses available during the daytime, at weekends and evenings, to provide support and care to people at home with palliative care needs. There is also an on-call overnight nursing service in place to provide support and care outside of working hours.”

Superficially impressive. But speculative fiction. That “reassurance” is, alas, a plucked-from-thin-air theory which has no practical reality. GPs who seek to tap into these services will find and have found it impossible to get the help they need.

Which is where we came in. 

When days are few, life is very precious. 

The Beatcroft Social, from Glasgow and Shetland, 26 May 2018 - technical details follow (and music!)

This was an experiment, or I should say yet another experiment in the continuing saga of experimentation which is The Beatcroft Social.

We have the shetlandwebcams.com site up and running, and thanks so much to all of those who pledged cash to support the development of our coastal webcams project. Your merchandise is on its way! New hardware has been purchased and camera installation will be underway soon.

This week, though, and for the next few weeks, the audio (ie, me and my choice of music) has to come from Glasgow, where I am engaged in some building work...so with me using some dodgy west end of Glasgow wifi, a Macbook Pro, an AKG D230 microphone, an old Logitech camera, the iRigPre interface and a set of Koss PortaPro headphones, we set to work. I normally use DJ Pro to play out the music (which can come from lots of places - iTunes, Spotify, downloads, Mp3s, CDs, vinyl, cassette, Soundcloud) and using the virtual desktop app Teamviewer I was able to control, with almost no time delay, the Mac Mini with DJ Pro on it in Shetland. To connect my voice, grizzled countenance and occasionally my dog Dexter to our Tricaster system and assorted gubbins so we can vision mix all the webcams and relay them to our various worldwide servers, it was just the simple online web service VMix, accessed through the Chrome browser.  This requires no extra software or hardware.  It's like Skype.

To our astonishment, it all worked. Sometimes not brilliantly well, and there were a few glitches and dropouts. You'll hear all this on the Mixcloud audio. We're working to improve the sound of my voice, but the hospitals are all booked up...different microphone and possible 4G instead of BT wifi next week.

Meanwhile, The live video went out smoothly, for the most part, and Andy went walkabout in Lerwick with his iPhone to see if we could send in remote video and audio. That worked too. Next week we're really stretching the boundaries, but my lips are sealed...

Meanwhile, here is the link to the full video-and-audio show at shetlandwebcams. com, the 60N Radio tab.

And here's the Mixcloud audio:

This is the end, beautiful friend...aw, come on guys..Shetland, Series Four, the final episode. It was all a dream

Douglas Henshall issued a warning on Friday night that this final episode of Shetland, Series Four was going to be so disturbing you should "be around people you like." Possibly because you'd be so upset by the sheer dramatic potency of the experience, and therefore needing succour and comfort. Or perhaps so infuriated by the storyline's bonkersness you'd lash out in fury at anyone you didn't like, potentially providing some business for your local Perezes and Toshes...put that empty bottle of Shetland Reel gin down...slowly...

Anyway, I hope you found a suitable shoulder to weep on/an enemy to shout abuse at/a cat to kick/wall to headbutt. 

Also on Twitter during the week, this interchange: Ian Rankin claims - claims - to know nothing of any beach barbecue or Rebus having a fling with twin sisters called Killiecrankie. A likely story!

Note: Broch, not a kiln. Nor, for that matter, a tattie hoose or sheep fank, both of which are quite, quite different from a kiln. Unless you're making a TV crime show, of course.

Before plunging recklessly into the peat bog of confusion and misdirection which is the final episode of Shetland, Series Whatever It Is, a word: and that word is Lerwick, or Lerrick. Or as Minnie Mouatt from Unst told me, Lerook. Doogie (if he was here he would tell you) and other members of the cast have been told to say Lerrick, which, in the casual mouths of deep-dyed non-Shetland dialect speakers, (reverse-knappin' is the term, as opposed to knappin, which is when native Shetlanders speak precise English) sounds ingratiating and incorrect. The accents are a hilariously semi-Skoattissch mess, in truth, apart from the indefatigable and woefully under-used Steven Robertson, who Really Does Come From Here. Not that this will bother Douglas Henshall, according to top thriller scribe Christopher Brookmyre (SWEARINESS ALERT!)

Thanks for that Douglas. Always a pleasure. Right, here we go:

Yooz talking' tae me? Ah'm the oanly wan heer pal. Who the hell else wid ye be talkin' tae? Help ma boab!

Chilling, says the continuity person, it's a chilling series finale. Don't know about you, but I am chilled. And cue the drone, the eye of God: It's the Volvo, giving it Scandic car all over the place. Jimmy's pea jacket meanders moodily towards the Wildlife Sanctuary (where are the animals?) and a hunted looking Donna Killick. And we're looking at the beach barbecue on 8mm (transferred digitally; film is always better. Go Analogue!) Alan's father? Gone by then, says Donna. 'Duncan and Lizzie seemed quite close, don't they?'

 Dunc's in trouble!

'Who is Duncan, anyway?' Over to you, Tosh. Take a deep breath: 'He was DI Perez's late wife's first husband, the father of his step daughter.' Chinatown without the sordid bits! No wonder scary Glasgow eyebrows detective is looking shell shocked. And here's Jimmy at Duncan's house. Picture of the deadly scarf that strangled LIzzie Kilmarnock and...it's deffo Duncan's. We've seen the video.

'Any idea how it got wrapped around the neck of a dead girl?'

Dunno. Maybe the scarf is...haunted? Like...a magic scarf? Shetland knitwear has special powers, after all

'You're going to have to tell me about you and Lizzie Kilmuir.'

Perez is looking hungover, very unshaven and in need of some blood pressure tablets, or a drink. Or both.

'Cassie's Alan's half brother, isn't he?' Well, yeah. But naw. But....you wont't mind giving me a DNA, ya swab? Let it go, Jimmy, we love each other.

 Naw. Ah cannae dae that Dunc. Geeza a swab ya bam. It's Chinatown! Nope, It's Taggart, baby, but with seagull noises.

It wisnae like this in Line of Duty

And here's Thomas Malone, lurking at what is clearly  Loch Thom, just above Greenock,  with trees and a shotgun, giving it beer can destruction all over the place. Never mind, he'll be back in Shetland momentarily. Doubtless via Gourock and the Dunoon ferry.

Dunc gets swabbed. Eyebrow tec is upset at not being kept in the loop. Julie the Stern Fiscal says wait and see. We're at Lizzie's grave with Kate and her daughter. And then we're not.

Sandy breaks the news to the team:  It's Duncan's DNA on the scarf and he's Alan Killick's dad, and unless I get more to do in the  next series, I'm off. Possibly to Wick, or worse, maybe River City. 

Well, holy genetics, Batman! It's Second Dad! Does Mark Bonnar want out that badly? Does Craiglang beckon for him too?

'He's just another suspect'. Aye, right. Let's head off to the awfy dear Fjogstad kit house with the balcony. 

'Duncan Hunter, you are being detained because it clearly wasn't you.' Nice house. Good beard. Jimmy wants a beard like that. He's been trying to grow one for six weeks.

'This is Shetland so it's always personal.' Aw come on, no way is dad interviewing dad. I'm with eyebrow woman and every other real cop watching this. Anyway, to the interview, and Duncan  admits having a do in 1993 with Donna Killick (and getting her pregnant) but he didn't do the dirty with Lizzie. He gave her the scarf because she was cold. A real man would've given her a jacket. Yes, he sort of half-guessed that Alan was his son. Did Sally McColl know that Duncan was Alan's father? Dunc offered her a lift home after the folk festival, but she turned it down. 'Do you really think I murdered Lizzie and Sally? - it wisnae me!'

Eyebrow woman: 'Well, somebody did.'

Do they seriously expect us to actually say this stuff out loud?

Jimmy to Cassie: Look pet, it's like this: Alan's your brother, Duncan's his dad, Duncan's been arrested, I've arranged some psychiatric help. Oh, and he was with your now-deid mum when this was going on. Chinatown! But in a decent, Scottish sort of way. Nobody gets their nostrils slit here.

Molly Killick comes to see Malone, her phone set to record. This is really messed up, as we all think he's HER dad (she's 23 and still at the Anderson High School, as often happens)  and he's mainly wearing a towel. Thank God he's putting on a shirt. Why did you leave flowers at Lizzie's grave? Because she was my friend. Jings, she's trying to seduce him, clumsily. Entrapment. Will violence ensue? Find out in a minute.

Now we've got Duncan in jail. Jimmy: were you sleeping with Lizzie? 

'Naw. I did not kill Lizzie. I did not kill Sally. And when I say that to you Jimmy I expect you to believe me. Because I love you. Sally knew I was Alan's dad - she had a go at me and said I should tell him. I was ashamed and I didn't want to Cassie to know. I swear on Cassie's life...I do not want to go to River City!' And, hell, that's enough for Jimmy.

'Well, I think he's telling the truth.'  And possibly the best line in the whole series: 'It doesn't make complete sense...'

Well, anyway. Donna told Sally that Alan's Duncan's son.

A BIG CLUE! A hitherto unchecked picture from Sally McColl's pen drive that she got in Norway from a woman...oh never mind. Anyway Donna Killick is in the background of said picture, which was  taken on the Unst ferry in 1993. Easy to tell as they were still using sail and oars back then on the Bluemull Sound. It was Donna dunnit. Course it was.

Suzuki Jimny sighted! Hooray!  Kate's at Thomas Malone's where Molly is unharmed but upset. I wanted to make him confess, she confesses, confessionally. But he didn't.

'Boath of yeh get oot noo.' Oh, and another thing, says Kate, casually. They've arrested Duncan Hunter for Lizzie, just so you know. WE KNOW! 

Donna Killick interview. The clue was in the name all along. Kill. Ick! Though it could have been Kill More, or Muir, obviously. Subtle. 'I didn't know what else to do! It was her or me!' Just to be clear are you saying...YES! YES YES! YES!

I think that's a 'yes'.

'But not Sally. I don't know who that was'.

Damn.

Malone's off wandering with his shotgun. Clearly he's going to want to kill Duncan! Nurse, the Atenolol!

So, it turns out that the photographs  proving whodunnit  went to (and were destroyed by) former copper Drew McColl ( who was having an affair with Donna Killer, remember?) He's a golfer! Very suspicious. Conclusive I'd say. Mashie! Niblick!

I know you buried evidence and framed Malone, says Jimmy. Donna Killick confessed, Drew, yoo durty ex-busy yoo. Put down the five-iron. 

'She's trying to protect me. I killed her! It was me!'

'No, you didn't.'

'Och, Okay then. Enough. I need to shave and so do you. I loved her. I was doing us all a favour. Malone's beard needed hidden from the world. Oh, and by the way I killed Sally, even though she was my daughter. Because....I just didn't like her very much.'

Meanwhile, what is Malone listening to on those orange headphones as he patrols the Market Cross with his gun? I vote for Daniel O'Donnel or possibly The Great Sydney. Now he's in Duncan's house and it's looking like nae mair Cassie's other dad. Mark Bonnar must have got a better offer right enough. But there's going to be a lot of talking first, of course

Dunc: You think I killed Lizzie?

Ah don't think. Ah know. Stephen Walters (Malone) is Liverpudlian.

Jimmy arrives. Thomas, Duncan's telling the truth. Thomas isn't convinced.  Don't do it Thomas! Cue standard face-off/talkdown/weeping/taking the gun off him scene. Sobbing. The beard is swimming. There, there. Jimmy has the gun and Duncan...he lives! Still ten minutes to go though. somebody's got to die, surely! Somebody we care about, or what was the point of that MISLEADING TWEET, Henshall? I'm guessing Sandy. Steven Robertson must be fed up with this.

'You know ,Thomas you've been very badly treated.' Tosh knows. Tosh cares. And we care. Arrest him for firearms offences, for goodness' sake.

Wait a minute! Thomas is having a neart attack. Has nobody checked his cholestorol? He's spilt his coffee. Drip, drip. His life is dripping away. Let me repeat that: His LIFE is DRIPPING away like the COFFEE. This is not going to look good. Police brutality! Paramedics, more coffee dripping. I can tell you that (1) The real Shetland NHS would have saved him, no question and (2) I'm not supposed to be giggling. But wait, birds are tweeting and his spirit is flying free in a drone over Lerwick like...a silent drone thing! It's like...his eyes have become a camera! Or a bird. Or a helicopter. Or an angel. A bearded angel...

Never mind, Duncan's alive, Cassie's OK (kinda) Jimmy's OK (kinda) and he loves Cassie though he still hasn't shaved. 'You're gonnie huv tae speak tae Duncan. Your maw wid want ye tae forgive him, and Alan's gonnie need the boath o' ye.' Wait...here he comes! The Silver Shagger, father of at least 20 children the length and breadth of Shetland! River City is postponed!

The End

But wait a minute:

So you're telling me that the entire fascism/deaf artist subplot and the Norwegian trip was all a red herring? Lars, Whitrit laddie, Matthias, the portrait of the dog, the whole Wes Anderson thing? Just so you could get a jaunt to Norway? After all, the crucial Sally McColl thumb drive was already in the cop shop.

And you THREW AWAY the was-Malone-Molly's-dad/was Kate really Lizzie theme. Cowardly. Or perhaps you realised 23 was slightly old to still be at school. Doh!

No pulleys in this episode. Shameful.

But wait, here's continuity woman: Shetland will return next year WITH A NEW SERIES!

May God have mercy on us all. Who will Duncan have turned out to be the father of next?

Thank you for bearing with me through all this. Your support is valued. We shall speak again in a year or so. Possibly.

Walk in the footsteps of Jimmy P:

www.shetland.org/jimmyperez

WARNING: There is apparently A SOUNDTRACK ALBUM! It WAS Daniel O' Donnell!

Shetland, series four, episode five: "Is this the social work department?" Killer heels and what's more, Thomas Malone has a shotgun in his house, which "I didn't search because I have delicate sensibilities and didn't want to mess up my handknits"

Hooray,  artist woman Jo Halley is not deceased! Which is good because we'll maybe see some more of Ruth Brownlee's excellent landscape paintings, used to illustrate the fact that Jo Is An Artist. Have a look at Ruth's website, which is here.  And that means you'll be able to see the pictures properly...

Chiaroscuro!

Anyway, Sandy is very upset. He's sitting on a rock, and that's how you get piles, my mother used to say.  He's feeling guilty. And cold. That jacket's useless for Shetland, even in the summer. Jo's at the hospital. Alan Kilmarnockintilloch arrives, but the abusive ex-husband is much on Jimmy's mind. Still,  Alan bothers him. He's "like a bad penny, that boy". And of course Alan is hanging out with Cassie too. That's Jimmy's daughter, and Duncan's in case you'd forgotten. Keep up!

Thomas Malone is in his kitchen. With shotgun cartridges, which he smells lasciviously. Jimmy briefs his team, glumly. The heavy mob, all Primark and Slaters Menswear, arrive from Glasgow, preferring their planes a little bigger and their runways a little longer. And their eyebrows a little more defined. Please tell me you searched Malone's farmhouse? No, I didn't want to catch my hand-knits on the skelfs and besides I might find he had an unlicensed shotgun. "Have a I stumbled into the social work department by mistake?" Not one bounded by any local government legislation I'm familiar with, darling.

Leave my eyebrows out of this, copper!

And so the suited and booted Glaswegians break into Malone's while Lars ("is he here to take a statement or make a  statement?") is in the shop of cops, grooming his upswept quiff in a suspicious manner.

(I'm grateful to emininent film critic Paul Anderson for pointing out the resemblance between Dodgy Lars The Whitrit (stoat-faced) Norwegian and Morten Harkett from the band Aha. Personally, I feel that's unfair to all Mortens, and indeed Mortons.) 

Wow, here's Downing, abusive ex-husband, completely out of the blue, not so much a red herring as a fish so out of water he's evolving into an iguana. Who it turns out was in Shetland all the time. For ALL FOUR PREVIOUS EPISODES! Apparently Jo wanted to see him, he says, to apologise and maybe start over. Do you know what? I don't believe you, says Jimmy. You're right, I don't believe myself, says Downing. I only read this stuff out. I did hit her when I was in prison but I've been to counselling and turned my life around and saw the light and I'm now a Buddhist with artistic tendencies and I came up here to see if she'd take me back. He lapses into cockney:

Oy nevver laid an 'and on her, guv, and that's ver god's honest troof! 
Most convincing accent in the entire series.

Stiletto Glesca woman: Malone wasn't there, any idea where he is Jimmy? Walking, maybe. Walking back to happiness? Wow, snappy dialogue, it could be Raymond Chandler. Or Glenn Chandler. Or Chandler from Friends. Or none of the above.

Here's Cassie and Alan, having a tete-a-tete on the beach next to Jimmy's house (actually Bain's Beach next the Lodberrie in Lerwick) Jimmy asks him if he was at Jo's last night, beating her up. No, he was walking on the beach next to the Wildlife Sanctuary, where nobody saw him. He turned up in the morning to ask Jo if she fancied some breakfast. As you do. Those breakfast dates are a big in Shetland. Sassermaet  is so romantic. And so healthy. (It's like Lorne Sausage, if you're wondering. Square slice but hairier).

Sinister Lars grins at Tosh, who's too busy for sassermaet, wisely. Lars thinks Jo made up 'this whole thing with me... I mean the Norwegian guy.' And suddenly Tosh realises that Lars has been here before, last week in fact. He's a wee liar. SOMETHING IS HAPPENING! It's the penultimate episode! I see glimmers of a plot. A taxi picked Lars up from either the airport (first scene) or ferry (second scene). She tells Jimmy, which is a relief. Because Tosh is really the only person in this whole show we care about. Jimmy phones blonde Bergen cop person and yes, Lars was lying. He's off to the airport and Must Be Stopped. Or maybe the ferry terminal. Planes, boats: what's the difference? It's an island!

Jo's awake! Sandy's with her 'You're safe now' What, with you, Sandy, are you joking? Even though you know kung fu. Look out, Lars is at the hospital  and Sandy's gone 'to fetch someone'. Careless.

OK, this really is pushing it a bit, scriptwriters: There's CCTV of Sally which seems to show her being given something by a woman in Bergen. Then there's INCREDIBLY detailed CCTV at Sumburgh Airport. 'What's that on her keyring? It wasn't there in Bergen!' Hang on a minuite, let me look closer...it's...it's a microbe! It's a rabbit's foot! No, it's a memory stick which handily, they have at the police station in Lerwick. Or Lerrick as Jimmy calls it, wrongly. Footage from this memory stick is shown.  'Looks like a meeting of far right groups' and...there's Lars! He's a Nazi And he is still in the hospital Come on, Sandy, you know kung fu! 

Aw, naw, that sassermaet sandwich is pure bowfin'

Lars is heading for the ferry. He's at NorthLink, trying to sneak past security onto the MV Hrosseyland. Has he got a St Magnus Lounge voucher?  Did Tosh really just say someone was on their way from Lossiemouth, and would be at least 30 minutes? By supersonic magical voodoo rocket manifestation, presumably. And now we're on the boat. (I always have the  Shepherds pie and 10mg of Phenergan.) Lars is in the kitchen and he now has a knife.

Tannoy announcement. There will be a delay leaving Lerrick. IT'S LER-WICK! Unless you're from Vidlin.

Car deck. Lars is hiding from Jimmy. He steals a car and the shortest and cheapest car chase in the history of TV crime ensues. He drives into...a police car, before running up the stairs. Exciting! Put the knife down, son, you're nicked. Here somes Sandy and  he knows kung fu. They've got the Whitrit!

The Glesca polis arrest Malone for wearing out of date 1980s orange earphones. Looks like Jimmy and co have got Lars for killing Sally, who was intent on exposing his membership of the Nasty Nazis, and for assaulting Jo, who saw him at the folk festival. But what else is on that fascist footage? Glesca poliswoman isn't having it. 

Lars being interviewed. No comment No comment, no comment.  Then OK, comment: He was trying to protect his country by preserving the Norwegian way of life. Eat more puffins! Suddenly we're invoking Anders Breivik and the Utoya massacre which I can't imagine the real Norwegians, big fans of this show, liking one bit.  'Our race is being destroyed! Our blood is being polluted!' Jimmy: 'My blood's already diluted - clue is in the name.' Lars is shocked, because he hates the Spanish. 'We are going to kill even more than Andres Breivik did.'

Turns out the target is a ferry being used to house Syrian migrants. Quick call to Bergen and that's sorted. Lars is in the jail, and now, so is a very shouty Thomas Malone. Calm down Thomas, says Line of Duty wannabe stiletto cop. We're from Glasgow and speak in a very strong Glaswegian accent, from, oh, Knightsbridge. Not Kelvinbridge. Where were you the night Sally was killed? I was out walking.  Time for Jimmy to have a word: What about Jo, Thomas? 'Nobody needs to know anything about me! I'm a free man.' 

Err, no, Thomas, you're not.

So where did you go ? 'The cliffs. The cliffs. Maybe I'll just let myself go - but I WANT TO LEEVE. I DESERVE TAE LEEVE!' Or possibly live.  Even if I have to wear this godless combat jacket all the time.

Anyway the refugees are safe. Lars has nothing to be ashamed of, he says. He took Sally's laptop and her phone. He didn't kill her but he did beat Jo up. And as for Sally, the last I saw of her she was arguing with an older man at the festival. But not Thomas Malone. It was...shock horror, because Jimmy has a picture of him as a screensaver on his phone and they LOVE each other...Duncan The Second Dad! Good grief. This could ruin their relationship!

Speak of the devil, Duncan meets Alan, apparently in Greenock or possibly Gourock to ask if he'll withdraw his offer a job to Cassie at the Wildlife Sanctuary, which is not in Renrewshire, in order to protect Cassie, who may be in Largs. I CAN SEE DUNOON! Mysterious. Now it's Duncan and Jimmy. I've got a witness says he saw you arguing with Sally at the festival! I offered her a lift... she seemed upset. Did anybody see you leave? I forgot I spoke to her. Jings. No alibi, but surely not Duncan with the silvery hair and the enormous bald patch? Aw, come on have a drink. Naw. Ah dinnae luv youse onymair.

Right, here's Kate Killick. In a kitchen. Is there a pulley? Can't see one. Wow, more sculpted eyebrows. She's in this 8mm film with her sister, dead Lizzie,  and Duncan Hunter, Jimmy tells her. There follows some completely incomprehensible stuff, but basically Kate was jealous of Lizzie. Absolutely. 'My feelings towards Lizzie are quite complicated.' On that day Lizzie was flirting with Duncan. oh...kaaaayyyy...

Back at Jimmy's house, he finds  an old picture of Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono. No, it's Duncan and Lizzie, or maybe Kate. Or somebody and somebody else. Cassie says he should go and watch the football.  There's Duncan wearing that tartan scarf, the one Lizzie was strangled with, the one that has an unknown person's DNA on it. Or wait a minute, is that Thomas Malone with a scarf? Or somebody else with a beard and a scarf? Frankly, I have watched this series more closely than anyone else I know, and I have absolutely no idea.

As Jimmy would say, ma heid's nippin'.

Final episode next week. We want:

More pulleys! More ponies!

More Volvos and possibly a Saab or two!

Sandy to demonstrate his kung fu skills properly.

Jimmy to shave!



Check out locations, background information and think about following Jimmy's footsteps at shetland.org/jimmyperez