Another Nail in the Coffin for Local History

Today, I dwell in an atmosphere of cacophony.

Once a year, our town plays host to a historical carnival/pageant.  It's one of these 19th century constructs designed to promote social cohesiveness and harmony.  It features a parade of locals dressed as druids, Marjory Bruce & attendants, local medieval dignitaries (who in reality didn't have much to do with this particular area) and various floats manned with Girl Guides, Boy Scouts etc. 

The roads have been closed.  Our street is stuffed full of parked cars, and there's people everywhere. 

I usually hang out to watch the parade, which goes past my door, but today I'm just not in the mood.  Last week's fire took out Paton's Old End Mill completely.  It's going to be demolished, if it hasn't been demolished already.  I just can't stomach a historical pastiche when a real piece of our local history lies smouldering, gone forever, just a few miles down the road.

Everyone's weeping and wailing now.  How did we let this happen?  Oh, my!  There's nothing left of Johnstone's history.  Etc. etc.  My father-in-law just remarked (and he was only half-joking), "Oh, well.  At least they can replace it with something worthwhile."

I'll complete my Paton's Old End photo saga with 'After' photos, just so you can perform a compare-and-contrast exercise, if you feel inclined.  But I daren't head out that way until tomorrow.  As is usually the case in the West of Scotland, today's festival will end with a bevy session.  Much alchohol will be consumed, and folk will get very crabbit, get into scuffles, and the A & E  staff in Paisley will no doubt be running around like headless chickens tonight pulling hatchets out of people's heads and patching up knife wounds.

Sorry to sound so disillusioned, but I, like the mill, feel gutted.  Ninety percent of the folk round here are great, don't get me wrong.  But there'a a certain five percent (usually, though not exclusively) young, male & testosterone-fuelled, who go and ruin  it for everybody, and it's a problem that really doesn't seem to have an answer.

Another Nail in the Coffin for Local History

Today, I dwell in an atmosphere of cacophony.

Once a year, our town plays host to a historical carnival/pageant.  It's one of these 19th century constructs designed to promote social cohesiveness and harmony.  It features a parade of locals dressed as druids, Marjory Bruce & attendants, local medieval dignitaries (who in reality didn't have much to do with this particular area) and various floats manned with Girl Guides, Boy Scouts etc. 

The roads have been closed.  Our street is stuffed full of parked cars, and there's people everywhere. 

I usually hang out to watch the parade, which goes past my door, but today I'm just not in the mood.  Last week's fire took out Paton's Old End Mill completely.  It's going to be demolished, if it hasn't been demolished already.  I just can't stomach a historical pastiche when a real piece of our local history lies smouldering, gone forever, just a few miles down the road.

Everyone's weeping and wailing now.  How did we let this happen?  Oh, my!  There's nothing left of Johnstone's history.  Etc. etc.  My father-in-law just remarked (and he was only half-joking), "Oh, well.  At least they can replace it with something worthwhile."

I'll complete my Paton's Old End photo saga with 'After' photos, just so you can perform a compare-and-contrast exercise, if you feel inclined.  But I daren't head out that way until tomorrow.  As is usually the case in the West of Scotland, today's festival will end with a bevy session.  Much alchohol will be consumed, and folk will get very crabbit, get into scuffles, and the A & E  staff in Paisley will no doubt be running around like headless chickens tonight pulling hatchets out of people's heads and patching up knife wounds.

Sorry to sound so disillusioned, but I, like the mill, feel gutted.  Ninety percent of the folk round here are great, don't get me wrong.  But there'a a certain five percent (usually, though not exclusively) young, male & testosterone-fuelled, who go and ruin  it for everybody, and it's a problem that really doesn't seem to have an answer.

On a More Cheerful Note...

I'm finding it very hard to stay indoors right now.  The garden's such a nice place to hang out, though the black clouds are beginning to gather, and I wouldn't be surprised if we don't get a storm towards the end of the evening, though maybe it's not muggy enough for that.

The Shirley poppies are out, which is really bringing the back garden to life.  Here's a view of the patio, with poppies, and some of the newly planted pots in the foreground:-

There's still lots to be done here, but I'm getting there.

A clematis (I'm not sure what kind it is, but it's looking good this year):

 

And a rather beautiful geranium.  I'm very fond of these smaller hardy geraniums, and this is one of my particular favourites:-
 

The slugs have been given extra rations tonight, courtesy of a very helpful spectator at the historical parade today who left two-thirds of a can of Carling Black Label outside our front gate.  Thank you, whoever you are, for that contribution to our garden.  It will be much appreciated - by the slugs, at least!

On a More Cheerful Note...

I'm finding it very hard to stay indoors right now.  The garden's such a nice place to hang out, though the black clouds are beginning to gather, and I wouldn't be surprised if we don't get a storm towards the end of the evening, though maybe it's not muggy enough for that.

The Shirley poppies are out, which is really bringing the back garden to life.  Here's a view of the patio, with poppies, and some of the newly planted pots in the foreground:-

There's still lots to be done here, but I'm getting there.

A clematis (I'm not sure what kind it is, but it's looking good this year):

 

And a rather beautiful geranium.  I'm very fond of these smaller hardy geraniums, and this is one of my particular favourites:-
 

The slugs have been given extra rations tonight, courtesy of a very helpful spectator at the historical parade today who left two-thirds of a can of Carling Black Label outside our front gate.  Thank you, whoever you are, for that contribution to our garden.  It will be much appreciated - by the slugs, at least!