I remember our first house in the new town of Glenrothes, Rimbleton precinct. All the precincts were named after the old farms on which the mass housing was built. Rimbleton streets were named after Scottish rivers: Clyde Court, Tay Court, Laxford Road, Moray Place…
I remember our second house in Glenrothes, Caskieberran precinct. All the streets had some connection to Sir Walter Scott: Marmion Drive, Waverley Drive, Kenilworth Court, Abbotsford Drive. Wonder what Barthes would have made of these signifiers?
I remember the concrete hippos and mushrooms which dwelt amongst the precincts and parks. For some reason their presence invoked a sense of comfort and made people smile. They were created by the town’s public artist which sounded like a good job to have.
I remember my morning paper round. Up at 6.00am, almost every day of the year. Rain, hail, sleet, slush, snow and sunshine. A liberating sense of freedom, moving through the landscape before the town had woken up. Dark cloaked mornings in winter, beautiful fingers of light in summer.
I remember I had to deliver one copy of The Financial Times. It would sit like a slice of pink luncheon meat sandwiched within the gray tower of Daily Records and Couriers. It was for a Mr Mason, who, many years later, I discovered was the father of the Poll Tax.
I remember our one day wildcat strike at the R.S. McColl paper shop. It was planned for maximum impact on a Thursday when the local paper – The Glenrothes Gazette – came out. We ended up being interviewed by The Gazette and made the front page the following week. Our pay was increased from £1.25 a week to £1.75 a week. Result!
I remember that following the paper round pay rise, I could buy an album every second week.
Now Playing: Alog – Unemployed