Friday, 17 June 2011

Paradise Trumped

Fantasy Bob apologises.  This posting is a joke free zone.  No change there then.  It is a cricket reference free zone too.  This is not so much a rant as a lament.

It is rare for Fantasy Bob to indulge in personal invective.  He resisted the temptation a few weeks ago when he saw a Twitter trend, #donaldtrumpisabellend.  The tweeting was a response to the insinuations of said Trump that President Obama might have forged his birth certificate.  As if. 

FB noticed that earlier this week a film about the development of the Trump golf development in Aberdeenshire won an award at the Sheffield Film Festival.  But news of this award has brought sadness to FB again.  He has no opinion on the suggestions of shortcomings in the procedures which  allowed Trump to build a golfing development to the north of Aberdeen.  But the development itself cuts him to the quick.

For in the grandiose design of this project, Trump has stolen a corner of Fantasy Bob's childhood and with it part of his soul.

These photographs tell why. They are of FB and sister#1, taken around 1960 at the position about to become the 3rd tee in the Trumped up golf course at Menie just outside Aberdeen. 

For several years FB and family spent the summer holidays in this natural paradise, interacting with the traditional salmon fishery that plied its trade through static nets - fishing nets, not cricket nets - on the beach.  The dunes were the most wonderful playground that any kid could have, with soft, golden and, occasionally, warm sand.  There were no walls to the imagination, the only constraint on freedom was being back in time for lunch. The marram grass was thick, high, would cut your bare legs but smelt as sweet as any candy store.   The farm on the track down from the main road had a dairy and bottled the country goodness in its own milk.  You get the idea..................poetry is possible in these conditions.

All gone; all executive hacienda housing; all faux baronial hotel; all security-gated millionaires' play-ground. Progress may well be deemed to be progress but it comes at a cost.  Truly, we do not value what is priceless.

Paradise Trumped - Paradise Lost 

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