IT must be the only place in Scotland with a war memorial on its outskirts that offers such a metaphor for itself.

But there it is, installed by cock-eyed city fathers in granite for eternity, part of an epitaph in memory of the men of the ''Town Of Airdrie Who Gave Up''. To read the rest requires a circuit of the memorial.

Fifty yards further up the hill that leads to the town, a road sign points in the direction of traffic, and declares boldly: ''Edinburgh''.

To get there, you have to venture further into Airdrie, by-passing the town centre by skimming around the roundabout at the four-year-old John Smith swimming baths.

These public baths also harp back to the past, erected on the site of the original Airdrie Public Baths that opened in 1935 with the help of #7000 donated by the Lanarkshire District Miners Welfare Fund.

Inside, a new generation is learning to swim. Their swimming lesson is another metaphoric gift. Survival means keeping your head above water.

Welcome to Airdrie, the grimmest town in Scotland, holder of the Plook on the Plinth award from Prospect architectural magazine. My mission: to determine what earned the award, the people or the buildings?

Confusingly, several grown men wearing sombreros are ambling along the central artery of the town, the Graham Street pedestrian precinct, which was recently refurbished at a cost of #650,000. It emerges that they are on their way to support the Diamonds, Airdrie FC, in the B&Q Cup Final against Livingston.

Unfortunately, the artery is clogged. Life in Airdrie is clogged. The dirty deposits of humanity, left behind like cholesterol from a fatty meal, are choking the town centre, which appears in desperate need of a heart transplant.

Locals tell how an aluminium cabin, the town's loo and not urban art, doubles as a charnel house, with a weekly supply of drug addicts collapsing inside.

Two women huddling together after a Sunday church service say they are too cold and too scared to stand and talk. ''We don't like to stand about here,'' one says.

Bang on cue, out of the blinding winter sunlight streaming down an alleyway next to Somerfield's, a rough-looking young man has decided to be intimidating and demands to know if The Herald photographer has permission to be here, to be taking photographs in the middle of Airdrie, and kindly inquires about our parents' marital status.

Then away he rolls, past Nobles Amusements, First Sport, Greggs the Baker, and Holland & Barrett's High Street promise of ''health foods and natural remedies''.

Except these shops are all shut. A Sue Ryder shop also lies derelict, its sign making a sad offer of kindness: ''Caring for people with cancer and other disabilities.''

Across from Somerfield and the social security office complex stands the old Safeway building - closed for five years and replaced by the new Safeway megastore 200yds away on the old Broomfield stadium site, former home to Airdrie F C.

It is a sight that incenses Ernest Capocci, 65, the owner of the trim Capocci cafe.

He believes Safeway is deliberately blocking development of this town centre site. He complains: ''They pay the rent and only pay half rates because it is empty, but keeping it derelict stops any competitors moving in.

''My father Vincent came here from Naples in 1925 and Airdrie was a bustling town. As recently as a few years ago, when Rangers or Celtic were playing, we used to have a man on the door. Now the club has moved, all the shops are shut, and the High Court is gone. We've been decimated. Business has never been so bad.''

Airdrie Academy schoolgirl Laura McPherson, 14, who is taking a friend's six-month-old baby, Jasmine, for a walk, is the sort of customer the Capocci man might have once won over. Not now. ''The town's dead, there's nothing for young people to do. We just go for walks,'' she said.

She does not know if Airdrie is the worst town in Scotland, but despite the agony of growing up there, she does not intend moving away. ''I want to learn to be a hairdresser and have my own shop,'' she says.

Islamic priest Shahid Abdul Basit, 32, who runs a local mosque in a converted church, and came to Airdrie eight months ago from Pakistan, hit it on the head. ''It is not very pretty. The people are nice, though. But it is so cold all the time.''

Staying in Airdrie is not necessarily believing in Airdrie. Father-of-three Joe Brennan, 37, a plant operator who lives in the Rawyards scheme, says he takes his boys out into the hills over Airdrie whenever possible.

From high up Airdrie Hill, with a panorama down the Clyde Valley, he points at a craggy rump of the town's skyline called Holehills. ''That's Beirut over there. You have to remember this is Buckfast territory. Then, one day, your head just goes down too far with it and somebody offers you heroin.

''We are waiting for a generation to die off early here. The only good thing is that there are kids today who can see what is happening and learn the lesson from the mistakes the older ones made.

''Airdrie's no worse than any other town in Scotland. It's no better either.''

Labour MSP Karen Whitfield agreed and condemned the magazine competition as appalling, snobbish and negative.

She said: ''What is the point or merit in decrying any town? This survey simply peddles the myth that Lanarkshire as a whole is not a worthwhile area and I cannot stand such snobbery.

''If the architects are so concerned about the state of these towns. then they should lead by example and tell us where to find inspiration. In fact, the town has many beautiful buildings such as Wellwynd Church, the Weavers' Cottage Museum, and the Sir John Wilson Town Hall.''

Well, almost. The Weavers' Cottage closed on April 1. The plaster is crumbling and half a gutter has collapsed on to the street.

But the message on the Weavers' coat of arms may offer some hope. It says: ''Weave Truth With Trust.''