I was in a field below the Wallace monument outside Stirling, watching as a helicopter pulled a colossal concrete post, roughly the height of the Wallace monument itself, out of the ground.
Then, I was standing at the top of the Wallace monument, looking down on the helicopter, which was bringing the huge post up to the tower. A man who appeared to be a project manager of some sort was explaining to me that the monument was in danger of collapsing and that the post was going to be used to prop it up. I doubted his theory, as anyone could tell that the post was so heavy that it would simply push the tower over.
Notes for Freudian Analysis
Not just one but two transparently obvious phallic symbols! I hope that satisfies those prurient readers who are constantly disappointed by the fact that this blog doesn’t have enough dirt in it. However, as Freud once said, sometimes a gigantic concrete post is just a gigantic concrete post.
I seldom talk about Stirling, but I mentioned it last night, when I was having dinner in Glasgow with Ellen and Amanda. There had been trouble with the train on my way from Edinburgh and I said that I’d been worried that it might end up being diverted via Stirling, which would take hours. As I said it, I briefly wondered whether such a route would even be possible. I know hardly anything about trains.
Yesterday afternoon, when I was working without joy on a particularly dreary passage of corporate babble that a minister had decided to waste everyone’s time with, I reflected on William Wallace and the wars of independence and all the historic struggles for self determination across the world and then I reflected on the dismal nonsense that I was listening to and then I thought a number of rather gloomy thoughts. But just for a moment.