The UK’s worst-selling map

From the Observer’s Robert McKie

 

17576154124_7c420b5c48_k
A single Scots pine grows from a boulder standing in the middle of Achness waterfall in Glen Cassley in the Highlands. It is a striking sight. Isolated in the fiercely flowing river Cassley, the tree towers above a long stretch of rocks swept by torrents of water. Salmon leap upriver in summer while golden eagles swoop overhead. It is an image of Scotland at its glorious, scenic best and would be expected to attract tourists in their droves. But in Glen Cassley, 50 miles north of Inverness, visitors are conspicuous by their absence.

Indeed, according to the Ordnance Survey, its map of Glen Cassley is the least purchased item in the entire OS Explorer map series. “Getting up there is only for the more hardy of us, perhaps, but it is still not clear why the map should be so unpopular,” said Nick Giles, the managing director of Ordnance Survey Consumer.
The Ordnance Survey now sells 1.7m paper maps a year (an increase on previous years) but is coy about sales of individual maps “for reasons of commercial sensitivity”. However, it recently revealed that its most popular map – Explorer OL17 of Snowdonia and Conwy Valley – sells about 180 times more copies than its worst seller, Explorer map 440: Glen Cassley and Glen Oykel. In other words, for every person who uses a map to explore the waterfalls and moorland of these two glens, there are 180 who would rather make the most of the crags and tracks of Snowdonia.
Sign up to the Green Light email to get the planet’s most important stories

Read more
Certainly some of this disparity can be blamed on remoteness. Glasgow is more than 200 miles to the south. Nevertheless, the area still seems curiously unloved even closer to home.

Inverness tourism office had stackloads of local Explorer maps during my visit – with one exception, map 440. Similarly, the WH Smith nearby also had shelves groaning with cartographic offerings but only one of Glen Cassley. This may not be the map that time forgot, but it is not far off.

“Essentially we are dealing with the least populated place in Britain,” said Dave Robertson, an OS surveyor for the Highlands. “There are a few dozen houses inside the land covered by map 440 but many of these are only sporadically inhabited holiday homes or shooting lodges.”

Robertson estimates that there are fewer than a couple of hundred people living in the 826 square kilometres covered by map 440. “By contrast, there are other OS Explorer maps which cover areas with millions of inhabitants,” he added. “Essentially the Glen Cassley area is an empty zone.”

It is Robertson’s job to update OS maps when new roads are built, mobile phone masts put up, houses constructed or wind farms erected on hill tops.

Mapping these features was once a laborious process involving theodolites and other instruments but has been transformed by digital technology. Now Robertson uses a two-metre pole – known as a Global Navigation Satellite System receiver – that is fitted with GPS sensors. They can pick up a combination of US, Russian and Chinese satellite signals that allow him to pinpoint his position on Earth’s surface with centimetre accuracy.

“You follow the line of the road or track you that are mapping and the GPS receivers marks your route on your laptop. Then you record what the surface is made of – grass, or tarmac, or soil.” All that information is recorded and is then used to generate a new map of the area. It is a constant business even in the Highlands. Or at least in most parts.

“The one exception to all that activity is Glen Cassley,” said Robertson. “I have very little to do there. It doesn’t change and nothing much happens there to require new mapping.” That lack of activity and isolation gives the area its grand, bleak beauty. There are no villages within its borders, and only a handful of farms, a couple of hotels, and a few roads, nearly all of them single track. By contrast, there are acres of blanket bog covered with blaeberries (bilberries), heather, bog cotton, tormentil and an exotic range of fungi including the purple amethyst deceiver.
FacebookTwitterPinterest
Robin McKie, right, with Dave Robertson of the Ordnance Survey in Glen Cassley. Photograph: Robin McKie for the Observer
Some of Scotland’s finest fishing rivers cut through this boggy land and there are stunning waterfalls and salmon leaps. Bird life includes buzzards, stonechats and an occasional golden eagle.

On my visit last week, Dave Robertson and I strolled through these wonders that were only intermittently blighted by rain or midges. We met only one set of fellow walkers – who looked aghast when I explained that I would be writing about the region. “Please don’t let everyone else know about this place,” they pleaded.

In fact, the Ordnance Survey says it is very keen to get more and more people to know about lost national treasures such as Glen Cassley. At the end of this month, on Sunday 30 September, the OS will be promoting National GetOutside Day when it hopes to get as many as a million people to take trips, walk and enjoy the outdoors. Thousands of routes around Britain will be promoted in the process.

“Once people realise what is on offer in places like Glen Cassley, they could make a lot of difference,” said Giles. “Certainly, it would be good if we could get Glen Cassley off the bottom of this year’s sales charts though that would only mean we would have to try to do the same for the current second bottom selling map – Peterhead and Fraserburgh – next year. And that might be harder.”

Lost and found
The origin of the Ordnance Survey can be traced to the government’s decision to map the Highlands in the wake of the Jacobite rebellion. British troops, in pursuit of the defeated rebels, found they had no proper maps to help them locate their enemies. So the government launched a mapping exercise that produced the first detailed maps of the Highlands and later the rest of the country.

Today the OS has two main series of British maps: the Landranger with red covers and the Explorer with orange covers. The latter are scaled 1:25,000, in which 4cm represent 1 km. Landranger maps at 1:50,000 scale have less detail but more coverage on a single sheet.

The top 10 most popular Explorer maps all cover areas of England and Wales. The 10 least popular all cover areas of Scotland.

The top three are:
OL17 Snowdonia and Conwy Valley.

OL7 the Lake District, South Eastern section.

OL24 the Peak District.

The three least popular are:
OS440 Glen Cassley and Glen Oykel.

OS427 Peterhead and Fraserburgh.

OS333 Kilmarnock and Irvine.

Advertisements

CATCH YOU LATER

 

CATCH YOU LATER 17918

1. Clerical Duties

I was an atheist before I died, so it gave me a modicum of pleasure knowing there was no heaven or Hell. Instead, I found myself standing in the foyer of The Henry James Inn, barely a mile from where I got knocked down.

The walls were adorned with the heads of every British mammal I knew. Birds gave menacing stares from pedestals or inside cages. On my right stood a fox on its hind legs, its teeth clenching a pheasant’s neck. Above the fireplace hung a bull’s head with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. It was staring right at me like it was about to charge at any moment.

Two armchairs faced the fire. I advanced towards them and saw a grey-suited man sitting on the left one. He had neatly-cut, grey hair and a goatee trimmed to a point. He was small and old, but gave off an aura of danger. With a bobbing movement of his finger, he gestured for me to sit

I sat with my legs pressed tight together, my clammy fingers digging into the arms of the chair.

The man turned to me. “Good evening. My name is John.”

Mine’s–”

Andrew.” He drew my gaze to the plain wooden fire surround. “Watch this.”

Nothing happened at first. Then bubbles began to form on the surround, taking on the shapes of contorted, twisted faces, each one with its own distinct features.

John reached over and stroked one of the faces. The corners of its wooden lips lifted in a grin and it started moaning.

I gasped. “Pretty neat. Is it mechanical or does it use electricity?”

Neither.”

Then how does it work?”

He scrunched up his face. “How does it work?” he repeated, stroking his goatee. “Hmm! How does it work?” Hmm! Let’s make things easier. I’ll tell you whose faces adorn the fireplace. It’s those who double-cross me. Or break one of the many taboos. Or refuse to give me their soul after I’ve given them what they want. Like this one here.”

He touched the face below the one he had stroked before. It snapped at his fingers, but he managed to withdraw them in time.

She promised to give me her soul if I found the man of her dreams. I kept my end of the bargain. She did not. Let’s have some fun with her.”

He leaned over the side of the chair, pulled out a wrought-iron poker from the companion set, and stoked the fire. A flame shot upward, curled and licked the face. It twitched and contorted as if trying to bear the pain. Then it flung its mouth open, releasing a scream so loud it pierced my brain.

I shoved my fingers in my ears. “Stop torturing it.”

Be patient.”

Stop. Please.”

Listen to it. It’s music. The music of pain. Isn’t it just wonderful?”

I fell to my knees. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”

The flame retreated to the hearth and the noise stopped. All the faces froze in mid-action.

I pulled my fingers out. “Thank God for that.”

He beamed. “No. Thank me for that. Now, the reason you feel pain is because your conscious mind still thinks in physical terms. It takes time for it to adjust to its new surroundings. Things will seem pretty much the same as when you were alive. And while it does, I have power over you. So, unless you want to adorn this fireplace, you’ll do exactly as I tell you. Understood?”

I swallowed. “Okay. But how long do I have to stay here?”

I’ve no idea. I’m not the one who does the sentencing.”

Who does?”

He shrugged. “Search me? But I suppose it all depends on how much you’ve sinned.”

I didn’t really know what constituted a sin, but I didn’t want to get into a debate about it.

Can you resist temptation?” he asked.

I think so.”

Let’s put it to the test. The moment you become too intimate with a woman here, you go to Hell.” He rolled his hand. “I’ll allow a handshake. A hug. Even a close embrace. But no kissing or groping. Do I make myself clear?”

Yes.”

Now then. Let me fill you in about your duties.”

Duties?”

We need order. So each person is assigned a role, including the duties it entails. I have something really interesting for you.”

My gut instinct said I wasn’t going to like this.

This can be bought on Amazon:

https://goo.gl/mdbsJv

and many other book stores such as Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Walmart etc.

https://www.books2read.com/u/mgL8Dq

Almost There: Tales Of The Supernatural

ALMOST THERE 17918

STAYING IN

John had spent the whole day driving round the Highlands buying bric-a-brac. His intention was to sell the stuff at auction in Glasgow the following day, but he had not anticipated such meagre pickings. So far he had acquired two clapped-out washing machines, a variety of stuffed toys, games, puzzles and a dog-eared copy of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. As things stood, he would be lucky to recover the cost of fuel and van rental, let alone make a profit.

By the time darkness fell he was exhausted. He sorely wanted to pull over and sleep in the back of the van. But with his luck he would get robbed. Instead, he would wait until he got home. However, he could not stave off the hunger pangs that knotted his stomach. He had taken painkillers to ease the pain, but they just made him feel drowsy.

Driving across the Ballachullish Bridge that spanned the narrows between Loch Linhe and Loch Leven, he glimpsed down past the iron girders at the dark water below. If he jumped in, all his worries would end immediately. Even if he changed his mind at the last minute, he’d still drown as he couldn’t swim.

He soon changed his tune when the the van’s faulty heating system packed in. Within moments the air chilled, freezing him to the marrow. With a bit of luck fate would grant him another opportunity to succeed, though he couldn’t see how. It served him right for renting the cheapest jalopy in the yard. But it meant he could afford to buy petrol for the journey, though he had not intended to venture so far.

He flicked his eyes at the fuel gauge. The needle leaned heavily towards red. He would barely make it home at this rate. He would have to resort to his age old trick of siphoning petrol. He had learned the skill from his father, a mechanic. The old man had fashioned a skeleton key that could fit almost any petrol cap. He had shown John how to use it when he took him on night-time sorties to villages outside Glasgow. John inherited the key when his father died.

At Glencoe the van wheezed like a fifty-a-day smoker. Its tyres struggled to negotiate the icy roads. The petrol gauge needle was almost horizontal now. In the worst case scenario he could abandon the van by the roadside and hitch a lift to the petrol station he had seen earlier.

His eyelids drooped. He blinked out the tiredness. At one point he closed his eyes for a few seconds before realising he was still driving. The van weaved along the road, skating towards the bend. He would have to be more careful if he was going to get home in one piece.

He turned his mind to Friday, two days from now. The rent was due on his flat and he was skint, hence why he came up with this hair-brained idea to make money. He worked on a zero-hour contract as a porter at The Glasgow Hill Hotel, which barely covered living costs.

The thought of being homeless had plagued his mind all day. It seemed he was doomed to follow the same path as his Uncle George. The unemployed carpet-fitter was sixty years old, divorced and an alcoholic. He flitted between relatives, begging for charity. John had felt ashamed of the old man when he lived with his family for two months a few years back. Now he understood the old man’s plight. It was easy to become destitute.

Dark blobs shot across the road.

John stomped on the brakes. The sudden action inflated the airbag, cushioning his flailing body when it slammed into it. For a few heart-thudding moments he embraced the airbag, groaning. Then he slumped back in his seat and gave himself a quick check-up. Nothing broken, bruised or bleeding. He was just trembling from fright.

He squinted at the windscreen. The headlights picked out a litter of wild boar piglets. They barreled towards him, squealing and grunting as they jostled for pole position.

John beeped the horn, stopping them in their tracks. The cacophony of noises became louder.

Two adult boars emerged from the shadows, keeping a glaring eye on John as they toddled towards the others. The piglets complained bitterly as they were shunted across the road, their voices fading when they disappeared into the undergrowth.

Another adult appeared, much larger than the rest. It stood square as if about to charge. A beast that powerful could easily dent the van or gore the tyres with its curled tusks. But it merely tossed its snout in the air in a haughty fashion, emitted a series of grunts, then joined the others.

John blew out a long sigh of relief. Thank God that was over. Now he could head home.

The engine had conked out when he had braked. Turning the ignition key, the engine gave out a series of whines. The fuel gauge indicated there was no petrol in the tank. Even if he could get the van going, it wouldn’t be long before it conked out again.

The last garage he had passed was miles away. No way was he traipsing back there. And who knew where the next one was.

He peered through the windscreen at the surrounding hills. No houses to be seen anywhere. But a few yards up ahead, just off to the right, was a tarmacked road. It had to lead somewhere. Hopefully to a house or village.

He dropped from the van, locking it. The chill gnawed at his bones. He quickly realised the folly of wearing only a bomber jacket, jeans and trainers. It was yet another item to add to the list of that day’s stupidity.

He broke into a jog and hung a right.

The road inclined for fifty yards or so, tapering off to a mere path. There was barely enough space for a motor bicycle to pass, let alone any other kind of vehicle. Yet, no signs indicated the danger of driving this way. It was a death trap for any unsuspecting driver.

Just before a tight bend he came across a grave. It was marked by a cross made from the broken staves of an old wine barrel. The epitaph seared into the crossbar said:

Jean McDonald.

Hanged.

February 1718.

Poor woman, he thought, moving past it. Scotland had a reputation for burning witches long after everywhere else had stopped the barbaric ritual. The hero within John wished he could go back and save her.

A little further along stood a metallic signpost that looked like it had been cut in half. Lochna, said the part that still remained. The other part lay on the ground, bent in the middle. A streak of rust crossed out doon.

He had heard of Lochnadoon somewhere. A battle? Lots of them were fought in this area between the clans, including the infamous Glencoe Massacre in which Clan Campbell slaughtered Clan McKenzie.

Rounding the bend, he saw a hamlet embedded in the hillside. It comprised a couple of dozen stone houses huddled together as if seeking warmth. At the end of the street, before a bend, stood a tiny, grey-stone church with a belfry that abutted a grey-stone cottage. Shadows danced behind the curtain in the cottage’s front window. A ribbon of smoke curled above its chimney pot. Across the gravel-strewn road from the church was a rest area in which stood two tables fashioned from treadmills, supported by stone pillars. A low wall fringed the precipice, overshadowed by a line of pine trees.

He went over and stood on the wall, running his eye along the main road that cut through the glen. His jaw dropped when he saw that his van was missing. Stolen? It didn’t have any petrol. Unless it was pulled onto a a pick up truck of some kind.

Yet another catastrophe.

He took out his cell phone and tried calling the police, but all he got was static. The same result with the van rental company and his flatmate.

Oh, for crissake.”

He chastised himself for setting out on this foolish venture in the first place. Nobody was going to offer him a free Da Vinci painting or a Rembrandt. He had learned the hard way that he was no businessman or salesman. Too late now to grumble. Just chalk it up as one big failure.

Who are you?”

He wheeled round to see a woman wearing an ankle-length, navy blue raincoat. The hood was drawn tight over her face, only revealing her nose and rosy cheeks.

John Fraser.”

Whit you doin’ up here?”

The van’s run out of petrol. And I think it’s been nicked.” He gestured with his phone. “It’s not working. And I need to inform the van rental company. And the police. Any chance I could use your phone?”

You won’t get a signal up here,” She replied in a stern voice. “Try Mick. He lives in yon house next to the church. He’s old and partially deaf so he might not hear you. In that case just go through a back window. He’s used to folk dropping in unannounced. He likes it.”

Do you know anywhere that–“

This ebook can be bought on AMAZON:

https://goo.gl/988ipx

or

BARNES and NOBLE, KOBO, SCRIBD, APPLE and many other books stores.

https://www.books2read.com/u/mgL8Dq

Catalonia – What Now?

catala nreferendum injured woman

The horrific events in Catalonia on October 1st 2017 have shown Spain’s intolerance to dissent. True, the vote was illegal, and the Spanish government had to do something about it.  However, was such brutal force necessary? From videos and eyewitness accounts it clearly was not.

Earlier indications showed that, had the vote gone ahead legally, the Remain camp would have won. So why the abject refusal to allow a vote?

As we have seen from the Brexit and Scottish referendums, relatively few incidents occur when they are done legally. This is a fine example of democracy in action. It should have set a precedence for the rest of the world. Instead, here we have Spain, a member of the EU, behaving like it was still ruled by Franco. Result: more people want Catalan Independence.

Violence is not a way to combat dissent in a democratic country.

 

DARAPRIM – where’s there pain, there’s wealth

Martin Shkreli, a biotech entrepreneur (pictured), bought the American marketing rights to Daraprim, a drug that treats a parasitic infection.  His company, Turing Pharmaceuticals, said it would increase the price of Daraprim in America from $13.50 a pill to $750. On September 22nd, he promised to rethink the price rise,but defended his move, saying that Turing plans to invest in research and development to improve the 62-year-old drug. Doctors expressed scepticism. Some said they needed not a better drug but a cheaper one. The medicine is used to treat toxoplasmosis, an infection that is particularly dangerous to people with weakened immune systems, such as those with AIDS and some cancer patients.

The patent for Daraprim expired long ago and in theory there is nothing to stop another firm producing and selling it under its generic name, pyrimethamine.

In  Britain, Daraprim is sold by GlaxoSmithKline (GSK), at a far lower cost of around $20 for 30 pills. GSK sold the rights to market Daraprim in America in 2010 and those rights changed hands again recently, with Turing the buyer.

But Turing is not the only company to have bought the rights to older drugs and raised their prices. Valeant of Canada sharply raised the cost of two heart drugs after acquiring them this year. Horizon Pharma increased the price of a pain-relief tablet, Vimovo, by 597% after buying the rights from AstraZeneca in 2013. Since 2008 the price of all branded drugs (including both patent-protected ones and those whose patents have expired) has risen by 127% in America, compared with an 11% rise in the consumer-price index, reckons Express Scripts, which manages medicines’ costs on behalf of employers and health insurers.

Turing promises to waive the cost of its pills for people who have no health cover, but the move could impose a big price rise on insurers, hospitals and government health schemes. The 13.1% increase in prescription-drug spending in 2014 is already leading to higher premiums for health cover.

Gateway to the Catalan Republic 2015 (Via Lliure cap la República Catalana)

20150911_165451

For the last three years the pro-independence organisations Catalan National Assembly (ANC) and Òmnium Culturala have organised a mas rally (Via Lliure) in Barcelona on September 11, Catalonia’s National Day.

This year (2015) the rally took place along Meridiana Avenue, which stretches from the ‘Parc de la Ciutadella’ where the Catalan Parliament stands, to outside the city. TheVia Lliure cap la República Catalana (‘Gateway to the Catalan Republic’) was 5.2 km-long.

The route was divided into 135 stretches, symbolising the Catalan Parliament. Following this, the president of the Catalan National Assembly (ANC), Jordi Sánchez outlined the importance of being registered “not because we fear that the ‘Via Lliure’ won’t be full” but to inform the participants of their position and role during the demonstration.

While last year’s V-shape’s demonstrators dressed in red and yellow, symbolising the colours of the ‘Senyera’, the Catalan flag, this year’s predominant colour was white which symbolises a blank page, a book that citizens have to fill with their wishes for the next country that will be Catalonia.

Different coloured cards in the shape of arrow pointers were located all along the avenue, one for each of the ‘10 concepts’ that have formed the core of ‘Ara és l’hora’ (‘Now is the time’), the ANC and Òmnium Cultural’s summer campaign for the Catalan elections scheduled for the 27th of September. These 10 concepts represent key values that the new independent Catalonia must guarantee. The colours will be distributed as follows: yellow for democracy, blue for regional balance, red for solidarity, sky blue for openness to the world, green for diversity, dark green for sustainability, purple for equality, brown for welfare and social justice, pink for innovation, and orange for culture and education.

The ‘Gateway to the Catalan Republic’ will be divided into 135 stretches, the same number as the total number of representatives sitting in the Catalan Parliament.

The demonstration was officially started at 17:14. 1714 was the year when Barcelona finally succumbed to Bourbon troops, after 14 months of siege. The whole demonstration is supposed to last approximately an hour and a half, including the final speeches that are normally given by the president of the ANC, Jordi Sánchez, and that of Òmnium Cultural, Quim Torra, and other outstanding representatives of civil society. At 17:14, a giant arrow pointer symbolising the way to the Catalan Republic travelled along Meridiana Avenue, starting at Roselló Porcel Street, at the entrance of Barcelona, and going all the way up to ‘Parc de la Ciutadella’, where the Catalan parliament is located.

Anti-Catalan nationalism party Ciutadans (C’s) had stated that they would try “to put all the possible obstacles” to impede the rally from happening. Ciutadans’ councillor in Barcelona’s City Hall, Carina Mejías, said that the pro-independence rally is “partisan”, only “interests a few” and creates a “split” as it divides Catalan society. “I don’t know why Barcelona has to each year be the stage for partisan harangues. Such events do not fit into the party’s model for Barcelona, she said. National Day (on 12 October) and the Spanish Constitution’s Day (on 6 December) supporting Spain’s unity in Barcelona are adequate and have nothing to do with the division created by the pro-independence demonstrations.”

Thirty people from different countries were invited by Òmnium Cultural to witness the independence movement at Meridiana Avenue in Barcelona. Scottish writer, Irvine Welsh, French-American activist, Susan George, Germany’s foreign affairs advisor, Kai Olaf Lang, and professors such as Michael Keating, Michel Seymour, Bard Fassbender, David Farell and Rogers Brubaker are among those invited by the sovereignty association.

20150911_17123920150911_16084420150911_16082620150911_16084420150911_16014420150911_16024520150911_16084420150911_16105220150911_16110020150911_16543620150911_17123920150911_155929

Harley Days

harley days

Since 2008, Barcelona has hosted Harley Days – the biggest urban event of the Harley Davidson brand in Europe. It lasts a weekend and takes place at Plaza España, near Montjuic Fairground. Harley Davison enthusiasts come from all over the world to participate, and over a million tourists come to watch the free event. Yes, you heard right – it’s free.

I nipped along on Saturday afternoon for this year’s event (Friday 3rd-Sunday 5th July 2015.) Temperatures hit the late nineties. With skin as pure as the driven snow, I barbecued nicely under the watchful eye of the sun. (And that was with factor fifty sun-blocker.) I posed for photographs as I sat on a Harley Davidson which was far bigger than anything I could ever handle.

And it was free (sorry, just love that word.)

There were motorbikes for sale and all the gear that went with it. And of course, no event would be complete without some tacky souvenirs. So I bought a SONS OF ANARCHY Tee shirt! Well, you’ve got to, haven’t you?

I doubt the local chapter of the Hell’s Angels will be quaking in their boots!

Afterwards, I watched a female rock singer called Clara Plath. She was really, really good. Listen to her songs on the internet – I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.

On Sunday was the big parade of bikes – all sizes, some custom-built. Well worth watching, despite the noise. Here are some photos.

Hope to see you there next year.

SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC

Clara Plath (worth listening to)

SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC
SONY DSC

The Oldest Magazine In The World

scots-magazine-2015-dc-thomson-shop

The Scots Magazine is a magazine containing articles on subjects of Scottish interest. It is the oldest magazine in the world still in publication although there have been several gaps in its publication history. It has reported on events from the defeat of theJacobites through the Napoleonic wars to the Second World War and on to the creation of the new Scottish Parliament.

It was originally published in January 1739 its first edition being dated Monday 9 February 1739 and publication continued until 1826; at which point sales had declined to such a point that it was withdrawn. However, in 1888 publication resumed under a new owner (S Cowan, Perth) and continued until 1893 when once again it was withdrawn. It was published between 1922 and 1924 as ‘The Scottish Church.’ In 1924 publication as ‘The Scots Magazine’ resumed, this time by the St Andrew’s Society (Glasgow). In 1927 D. C. Thomson & Co. Ltd took over and have continued to publish it ever since.

With a monthly average readership of over 259,000 The Scots Magazine is the world’s best-selling Scottish-interest publication. It offers something for everyone: culture, history, the great outdoors – including some of the best photography from some of the country’s best photographers. For Scots at home and abroad, the magazine captures the essence of Scotland with an attractive blend of interesting and in-depth articles.

In 2013, the magazine moved to the new B5 format. This gives the magazine much greater visibility on crowded magazine shelves and liberated designers allowing them to showcase the best Scottish photography.

Hamish McHamish – Scotland’s most famous cat

 

hamish the cat

Hamish McHamish (1999 – 11 September 2014) was a ginger cat that lived with Ms Marianne Baird, a retired BBC producer,.  At the tender age of one year old he decided to leave her and roamed the streets and alleys of St. Andrews, Fife. He did not need money as the residents of that fair city were only too glad to feed him when he appeared on their doorsteps. Though he loved the nomadic life, Ms Bard ensured the ginger cat had a yearly check-up with a vet.

He came to national and international prominence after the publication of a book entitled Hamish McHamish of St Andrews: Cool Cat About Town.

hamish book

 

Hamish built up a following on social media, with a dedicated Facebook page[ and Twitter account set up by fans.

When he passed away at the ripe old age of 14 years old, Flora Selwyn, editor of the St Andrews in Focus magazine, launched a fundraising drive among locals. .£5,000 was raised through public donations and grants from the Community Council, the Community Trust, and the R&A. Local stonemason Colin Sweeney dedicated time to make the plinth and the celebratory event to mark the unveiling is being funded by Fife Council. The statue, which as designed by David Annand, was revealed by the Provost of Fife, Jim Leishman in the town’s Church Square on Saturday 5 April.

Hamisnprov1.jpg

Hamish McHamish, the town cat, is St.Andrew’s answer to Edinburgh’s Greyfriars Bobby,. the Edinburgh Skye terrier reputed to have sat by his owner’s grave daily for 14 years.. He was not commemorated until a year after his death in 1872.

 

Here’s a fiction book about cats – THE HAPPY CAT’S DETECTIVE

https://goo.gl/bDfE4D