By Perry McDaid
Craigievar Castle stretched high into the azure of a mild November afternoon, valiantly attempting to ignore foreigners seething through and around its noble walls.
Only two great halls had been prepared for the Saint Andrew’s hootenanny. Their refurbishment was as far as the heritage grants could be stretched.
This last event before December skies lumbered in was to fund their maintenance and further repairs.
Costumed tourists claiming Gaelic ancestry stomped corridors in impractically shiny shoes, oblivious to the cringing stone.
Another castle would have revelled in such pomp. But Craigievar was truly Scottish.
It noted the false tartans.
“Pillocks,” it thought.
The Scots have little use for puffery as symbolized by its famous castle.
A great wee story, Perry…….Loved the last line….!!
Nice story, Perry. I enjoyed the second paragraph.
I love how you’ve made the castle the main character in the story – wonderfully inventive. It’s also great seeing the word ‘pillock’ being used – long a favourite of mine!