A March to the Mausoleum Through the Valley of Darkness.
Death to Shoes: The major sartorial challenge of every morning. A slippery hill of sodden clay and dogshit, with a busy road at the bottom.
Death from above. The central belt's volts and amps.
An Economic Mortuary - the flooded, empty fields of Gartcosh Industrial Park.
Last week, dead leaves. This week, naked trees.
It lies. There's no way out. You are doomed.
The shiny wheels of death.
Central belt commuters - dead on the inside…
Fountainwell Flats. Demolished three days after I took this picture from the train.
The flooded pastures of Midlothian, where floats many a dead worm.
St Andrew's House. Swarming with civil servants...
The Royal Mile in November. Dead as a doornail. For those who recognise the woman crossing the road: the jokes are obvious and possibly libellous. So just don't.
My destination. Yup, nothing happening here. Might as well work in a mausoleum. Sigh.
ADDENDUM: After I thought up this theme I was cursed with frantically busy days that proved it all wrong. Referendum talk, white papers, commission reports and cabinet reshuffles have actually made the parly feel a bit more lively...
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