Culture

That jiggery-pokery thing called life: a poem for new year
‘Revisiting the collection now, it carries a comforting message in a winter of rampaging flu, overcrowded hospitals, and political uncertainty about how to heal the health service. Love, life, birth and death – the great…

How business and the media fuel loneliness
‘Given all this why is it that over 9 million adults in the UK say they feel lonely all or most of time? Why has loneliness (often caused by a lack of kindness) come to…

A poem for Christmas
This year’s Sceptical Scot poem for Christmas – so soon since the last one – is a poignantly, tenderly beautiful poem by Christine de Luca.

Poetry Tree and the turning seasons
‘Poetry readings were performed here for Refugee Week. Poetry postcards offered to passers by on National Poetry Day. Poetry twirled on willow stakes in the garden. Poetry projected on to the plinth of the Melville…

Willies, ghillies and horny Highlanders
‘We need to recognise the bawdy sense of mischief that was common currency in the tradition before it was swept aside by the religious revival in the 19th century. In contrast to the shortbread tin…

On Halloween
‘In the past twenty years, festivals are returning as we realise their place and value in society. It should be unsurprising that many of these ‘newly hallowed’ traditions should resemble Halloween in some way or…

Black History Month, not just about the past
This year’s Black History Month opens a new chapter in Scotland with a campaign to establish Scotland’s own museum of empire, slavery, colonialism and migration.

Expiring Capital – on leaving Edinburgh
‘I continue to believe that the working class people that I was privileged to know in Edinburgh, who first made me feel at home here, deserved the keys to the city because they cared for…

Mind the time? Football memories
“I come along with a confused man and leave with my husband.” Gordon Munro reviews Mind the Time, a poetry project using football memories to enhance the lives of people with dementia and those closest…

Down to the river of death
‘This deep, dark watery grave is the only symbol of the city’s sharp industrial decline that we can’t privatise, close down or demolish. It’s the only thing we can’t wash our hands of or blame…


