Bagpipes Over the Bypass

I have, of late, been a little saddened by the fact that it has been some time since I took pen to paper (metaphorically, of course, in this digitial age of ours). And then I was struck by the bagpipe-player who has taken to standing outside my place of work, doing his thang. Yesterday I caught him looking not towards the passing pedestrians, but rather standing with his back to them, looking out over the bypass while he squeezed out his tunes. And I thought... what must he be thinking? What thoughts were blowing through the wild and untamed landscapes of his unruly Scottish head? Was he imagining he was back on the Highlands? Was he lamenting the loss of a flame-haired, dusky maiden? Of course, he may have just been thinking (in a Brummie accent), "I hope they've still got some of those reduced chicken pies in Somerfield."

And then I thought...

Of course you are still writing, you fool!

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