HOPE OVER FEAR – this time I’m serious
When I was 6 my wee brother was conveyed in a Cumfifolda pushchair with a big tray underneath it curiously of the most perfect shape to accommodate Scots Independent papers and SNP election leaflets. My mum, my brother and I pounded the streets whinging those missives through letterboxes of big posh houses and more modest council homes. We lived in Crieff, caravan dwellers, probably the sort of folk that others thought didn’t deserve a vote; likely we were regarded as illiterate leeches who made a living from stealing and selling scrap or telling fortunes in palms or tea leaves. I’ve explained before about the braveRead More →