Quite Ugly One Morning

Travel Guide

Chris Brookmyre’s Scotland:

Islay

Quiet wee island, quiet wee polis statin. No more of the junkie undead no more teenager jellyhead stabbings, no more pissed up rugby fans impaling themselves on the Scott Monument, no more tweed riots in Jenners, and, best of all, no more f*****g festival. Nothing more serious to contend with than illicit stills and the off fight over cheating with someone else’s sheep”

Edinburgh

“There was a glow of light from behind the horizon, tinting the city w in faint, shadowy hues, like a huge room lit by a lamp with a dimmer switch.

The castle cut the skyline with a tetchy cragginess, ill-tempered elderly resident of the district with a fragile tolerance of the newcomers to its neighbourhood

And not far beyond he longest spines of its shadow, just past the borders of the Old Town, in the vicinity of law courts, local government, big business and one of Europe’s busiest tourist honeypots, sat a crappy wee spread-out collection of prefabricated, low-rise bus shelters posing as a geriatric hospital.”