A.R.Hope Moncieff described the Hebrides as having hardly tree
to shiver, where docken, broom, or thistle may be the best substitute for a
switch, and every drifting log or plank of shipwreck washed up from the
Atlantic is treasured to make the rafters of a human nest. A woman brought to
the mainland had no concept for trees but giant cabbages; and when a basket of
tomatoes came on shore an old Highlander was excited to see “apples” for once
in his life.
Even as a child sixty years ago on the Mull of Kintyre our
neighbour had never seen runner beans or a real pineapple. Today things have
changed and if it’s not available in the supermarkets or shops then you can
order it on line. Those who were once human have been relabelled and branded as
consumers and behave accordingly creating a hitherto unheard of refuse disposal
industry. I do my level best not to support this industry and try to reuse as
much as I can even within my own field of creativity. So scraps of tweed reused
produce a bag of even smaller scraps. Often during the makeover of an old
kitchen to an all-electric showpiece that would see little actual cooking the
old wooden chairs that had done good service for decades must now be chucked
for something more stylish in chrome and plastic. Combining my small scraps of
tweed with one such old kitchen chair and in the best island tradition I produced a colourful and amusing alternative
maybe more suited in retirement to that of life in a quiet bedroom.
No comments:
Post a Comment