Robert McNeil: Why do the country set ruin the country?

Published on Wednesday 19 August 2009 14:47

I LEFT you last week as I was experiencing a mild attack of the heebie-jeebies in my Galloway holiday cottage. The ostensibly cosy nook's book collection included an Encyclopedia of Witchcraft, some blood-horror novels, and a golf autobiography. There were statuettes of owls, a real-life Pagan high priest across the road and, in the garden, a grave-shaped piece of tarpaulin held down by stones. Even before dusk was properly doon, I'd already had a brush with a bat.

However, I needed to keep perspective here. Some people's imaginations occasionally run away with them. Mine sprints, covering vast, outlandish distances in seconds. In this instance, I'd to put up a winner's tape, hand my mind a bottle of water, and say: "Whoa there! Get a grip, pardner!" Did I mention that my mind was also a cowboy?

Closer examination of the grave-sized tarpaulin revealed it was something to do with the septic tank. The book collection overall was cosmopolitan, and Paganism has a fine spiritual tradition, involving closeness to nature.

Speaking of which, though it was getting late, I decided to take a 15-minute walk to see the beach at sunset. On the way, a black cat emerged from a field, flitting across my path and into the garden of the last cottage before the beach. This cottage was surrounded by Flowerpot Men and featured a Taoist symbol on the wall. Across the road was a Buddhist shrine. Buddhists, Taoists, Pagans: my kind of people. Though I like ordinary, church-going Christians, others are clearly evil, hurling hateful accusations of "heresy" towards the enlightened. Even the nice, ordinary ones make one feel uncomfortable, giving the impression they can see an otherwise invisible sign on one's foreheid saying: "Destined for Hell." Taoists, on the other hand, in my experience, just say "Hi", have a sense of humour, and seem far less judgmental. Same goes for my mate, Ivan the Humanist. These guys are sorted.

The beach at sunset is beautiful. I have it to myself. The sighing of the tide syncs with my soul, the sand underfoot soothes my body, which can tire of the harsh balance afforded by concrete. I feel, somewhere beyond brain and body, that connection with nature, which once so motivated me but which of late I've blotted out, preferring the ersatz version provided by the suburbs. However, the earthy connection here – abetted by soothing sea air – brings deeper contentment, a feeling of rightness.

It's tempting to think this explains the insufferable smugness and supremacism of the rural set. But, the truth is these bods rarely set foot in the actual countryside surrounding them, but just get into big vehicles and drive from country bungalow to local smalltown supermarket or mart, without getting off their behinds. Recent news reports about rural obesity surprised me not a whit.

Taoists, Buddhists and Pagans advocate closeness to nature but – typical of the interminably troubled – I have doubts. How are we to connect with a tsunami? Connecting with nature is fine if you live in Tibet or the Home Counties; not so good in the Sahara or Motherwell. Where there is nature, too, there are always people, and they ruin everything.

As if to prove the point, having thought I had the beach to myself, I noticed a car off to the left. Closer observation revealed two shadows, then a mysterious light that began casting about between them. Before my walk, I'd fortified myself with a pint of whisky and so was unafraid. In fact, whisky being what it is, I walked straight towards them, wondering if they wanted a fight.

I think one waved. I couldn't be sure. It was dark now and, possibly, they were alarmed by my presence. At first, my sprinting imagination had taken them for smugglers, but they may have been campers. The tent was a possible clue here. I didn't wave back, in case they were taking the mickey or hadn't waved at all, but were just moving their hands in the air for some sinister purpose.

I hung about for a bit to show – pointlessly – that I wasn't scared, then trained my torch on the road home, as bats flitted aboot ma heid. Back in the cottage, the internet connection gadget – the sorting of which had held me up so irritatingly in Edinburgh – didn't work. Gosh, what an unusual development. And the laptop rejected the digital camera connection. I first bought a digital camera years ago. Never any problems. But I suppose they've improved them since then.

Never mind. I went to bed contented, troubled, unafraid, and wondering whether to keep the light on. Soon, sleep took me in her consoling arms, and benign spirits gazed down on me with love. I responded with a loud raspberry, blown amidst unlovely snores.