Sunshine on Scotland Street | 
pickGently humorous and wise serial concerning the denizens of Scotland Street, mainly featuring in this installment Cyril the dog and of course Bertie and his unspeakable mother
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pickGently humorous and wise serial concerning the denizens of Scotland Street, mainly featuring in this installment Cyril the dog and of course Bertie and his unspeakable mother
“Of course, we think of our shared humanity; of course we do. But I must disagree with you about the rest. We have to have some meaningful sense of the local in order to understand what our shared humanity is. If you take that away from people – as is happening – then they don‘t know who they are and that means they won‘t care very much about others. You‘ll get a crude materialism, because the material is all that we will have in common.
“Goodnight, my boy,” said the Cardinal. “And God bless.”
It was a kind thing to say to a dog, and a good thing. Because the least of us, the very least, has the same claim as any other to that love, divine or human, which makes our world, in all its turmoil and pain, easier to comprehend, easier to bear.
Of course we ourselves have changed – we, too, are thick-set, dour, and dull – but do not see ourselves as such. Eighteen or nineteen is the age at which most of us are permanently stuck – at least in our own eyes. And why the world should not see us thus is a mystery.
Everybody knew Princes Street Gardens. Everyone knew the Ross Pavilion; the floral clock; the lawns on which people sprawled during the long Scottish summer (July 18th to 25th) and gazed up at the Castle, that great towering edifice, the symbol of Scottish resilience and solidity.
Seriatim
