New Year in Scotland

Scotland in winter. The snow has melted, leaving dead, saturated grass, brown leaves turning to mush, tree branches bare sketches in a dull sky. Stained concrete paving and grey harled housing weeps with water. Brown rivers dash down gorges, too dark to photograph easily even at midday. Roads lined with crusty piles of old snow dirtied by salt and grit. We haven't seen the sun in weeks. In the city, a white-haired drunk sits in the Rose Street gutter amongst the stag parties and bargain hunters, singing to himself "if you hate the fucking English clap your hands."

Beautiful Scotland:


I recall a blog post from an American expat who had made her home in the west of Scotland, warning her fellow Americans of the Scottish winter. One woman wrote back that she was from Seattle and was used to the rain: she'd be fine. No, you don't understand, said the original poster. I could picture her haunted experession. It's not the rain. It's the DARKNESS.

The way through the ever-present reminders at this time of year in Scotland of death, decay and mental illness is to do something colourful or fun. When daylight barely seems to happen, and your car's lights stay on all day, its the friendlier, man-made light of the cities that warms you up. In Edinburgh on the 30th, a torchlit parade snakes its way down the Mound, bound for Calton Hill:







This is all part of Edinburgh's commercialised New Year festival. Not so long ago, a crowd of perhaps a couple of thousand gathered spontaneously at the Tron kirk on the Royal Mile for the bells. Today, around eighty thousand buy tickets for a concert and fireworks show held on Princes St, which is pedestrianised for the night and accessible only to ticket holders. It is so successful - and more exciting than the old, organic celebrations - that people come from all round the world to experience it. Other cities across the country host more modest events. It may have been a while ago, but Glasgow's 2003 George Square show with the Proclaimers was a personal highlight, especially as Edinburgh's Franz Ferdinand show the same year was cancelled due to high winds. Shadenfreude is not an exclusively German emotion.

Wherever you spent your Hogmanay, I hope it was a good one. For me, another year closer to death, it is a time of reflection rather than celebration. It is a time to quietly assess the last year and ponder the coming one.

Here's to a good 2011.