I HAVE just written to Amazon's big boss Jeff Bezos. I wrote: "Dear Mr Bezos, you have done an amazing job creating the world’s most successful company [got to fluff up the ego at the start]. You have the power to use that money to save the rain forest. You would be a living superhero and would go down in history as the world’s greatest philanthropist.
AS one of the army of folk who have found joy in our wild waters this summer, I rolled up at 8am to be greeted with a misty morn and a scene that looked like an Athena poster: serene, with geese gliding across the reservoir and silver flashes of jumping fish, as the sun struggled to penetrate the blue-grey sky. Quite the leveller for the soul.
IT entices thousands of Scots out of their beds every Saturday morning, so it must have something going for it. And it’s not James Martin or Matt Tebbutt on telly, showing you how to whip up a mean lemon posset.
IT’S oh, so quiet, sang Björk, in her unique, breathy way, 17 years ago. And it is. The woolly mammoth in the room, of course, is the climate crisis. Scientists have been slapping their foreheads and publishing ever starker warnings for many years now. This is the make-or-break decade, they keep telling us: ten years to get our collective act together and address the biggest threat humankind has ever faced, to keep global temperatures from rising beyond 1.5C above pre-industrial levels, in l
THE Borders is a deafening place to be at 5 o' the morning at this time of year, when all and sundry decide it's time to make merry and host a rave as they rejoice the break of day. That the arrivals fly 6,000 miles and choose the same spot of gable to nest in – it doesn't look much to me but eye of the beholder and all – is a source of perpetual wonder. And of course there are the year-round residents.
I AM sorry to be stepping in last minute for Fidelma Cook, who is too ill to write this weekend. I've all the respect in the world for Fidelma, and to all the loyal readers who have been following her ups and downs, her observations and deliberations, for years. My dad, who died last month, asked for The Herald to be read to him so he could hear how Fidelma was doing.
