Dunblane is quite a nice wee town, one of those sheltered, prosperous Anglo-Scots market towns, even has a nice, small cathedral, in its nice, small centre.
Like most of Scotland's beauty spots, it is thick with immigrant English. The Hamilton Massacre of a class of infants and their teacher
and the fog of secrecy which surrounds the official enquiry - the papers being buried until long after all concerned are dead - is what defines Dunblane for me; the at best curious roles of the Chief Constable and of Lord George Arseface, its then MP
and his sudden, airlifting from Westminster to Brussels and the leadership of NATO, after questions were asked about his relationship with trigger-happy Thomas Hamilton.
A MONSTER WITH FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES
I MEAN HIGH PLACES
These are fundamentally serious, national issues; skymadeupnewsandfilth, however, are all insisting that Florida resident, Andy Mummy, has now buried all this bad stuff in the past and the town can now rejoice in the business success of one of it's departees. Enough to make you weep, really, for all the children and the teacher, all the parents.
THE PERFECT SPORTSMAN
Is this really all it takes to heal all that pain, a fucked-up, repulsive Mommasboy, long since expatriot, snarling his way to a coupla million dollars?