There is a district, or area in Port Glasgow, called 'Boglestone'. When I was a young boy, living in Port Glasgow, this stone was located on the outskirts of the town, and on the road to Kilmacolm some 4 miles away to the south. Over the years, like most towns after the war, fast growth took place, and my home town was no different. Soon the 'Boglestone' was overtaken and surrounded by new houses, and new families. The history of this stone was either not known, not taught, or forgotten.

The stone you see in this photograph, which was taken in 2008, is only a part of the original, which was at least twice as high, and not so clean. It has been sanitised to fit in with the newer, cleaner surroundings.

A 'Bogle' is an old Scots word for a ghost, or spirit, and these ghouls were believed to live in and around this stone monument. When some "unco' happy" Portonians would pass this area, on foot, or perhaps on horseback, the drones and wails and screams of the ghosts and whigmaleeries would ambush the weary and tired traveller, and render him a quivering wreck. The stories of these well oiled locals seemed to grow with the telling, and soon this stone was the talk of the towns in the district. The reputation of the locals may have weakened, but the reputation of the stone seemed to grow! It became a fearful area, and not one for the children, or women, or sensible people to pass, especially at night. What those witches would do to an unsuspecting person was anybody's guess!

In fact, we now know that the strange noises which came from this 'Bogle' stone, were the noises of the wind whistling through the cracks and crevasses of the broken rock. Mind you, there is no knowing what these sounds would have done to the minds of any well inebriated rough Portonians on their way home after a hard day's heavy work in the busy shipyards, and a night on the town afterwards.

We seem to be easily influenced and affected by some things which happen in our lives, and we let false impressions take root against all common sense which should be quite obvious. Some things don't change even with the passage of time. Something of the spirit of the Boglestone lives on in all of us! Sad, isn't it?

Why a pile of stones at the top of a hill? There can be a few reasons. In past days, when climbing to the top of a big hill or ben, the walker would carry a stone or a rock to leave with all the others which had been left by previous folks. This made the area, the official peak, or summit. This then had the result of making the height of the peak even greater, and every so often the maps would have to be reprinted to reflect the change. Then there is the cairn. An old Scottish tradition of making a 'mark' of significance in an otherwise desolate part of the landscape. This might have been used as a sign of respect, or for worship of old gods of the past. There are many many cairns on peaks of hills, Corbets and Munros in the Scottish hillsides, each one a remarkable achievement, because each person who climbed to the top, carried one stone! The combined effect is a cairn, or altar. The more who took stones, the bigger the cairn and the higher the peak became. It is a bit like making the hill artificially bigger!

Sometimes we try to make ourselves bigger than we really are. Just like the cairn does to a hill. I think we can be guilty of talking ourselves up, or even worse, talking others down to make ourselves look better. I once worked with a man who swore often in 'normal' conversation. It turned out that he thought it made him seem a bigger man than he really felt he was. In fact, he didn't need to do that because he was a very nice person underneath, but he couldn't see it himself! And don't we love to exaggerate? To make our stories bigger helps to make us feel bigger too, doesn't it? We all do it, and can become quite accomplished at it too! Do we need to do this? No! Our friends, those real friends and family, will accept us for what we are, and are not impressed by inflated accounts of our lives. I know from experience that smaller folks with big hearts, are much nicer to be around than big people with a 'larger than life' story to tell! We have all been close to someone who didn't need to talk themself up. Their life did all the talking for them, and we are happy and even blessed to have known them, to have loved them, and better still, be loved by them. Sometimes one of those 'little' people can make those 'big' people look very, very small! We all know someone like that, don't we?

Oh yes, the photograph! It's of a 'cairn' overlooking the River Clyde estuary south of Largs, and towards the Arran hills.

During the normal course of a family life, some holidays stick in the mind more than others. There are the holidays before the children arrive, with their own special memories which can never be repeated, nor should be. Then there are the times away with your family when they are young and depend on you for their fun, their support, and of course their income. These holidays are different but still very special, and can never be replaced, nor should be. Lastly, there comes the time in your life when you can go on holiday together with your loved one, but without the children. Just like the first holidays you enjoyed all those years before? Not quite! They are different because by that time you have lived your life all the more, and you understand each other so much better, and that life you have lived has enriched your love such that you can almost anticipate the feelings and emotions of your husband or wife. Simple things become great pleasures, and an easy approach to life seems almost natural. You might wonder why this photograph? It is of Kynance Cove in South Cornwall, and is a reminder of holidays together, where long walks along deserted coves and sands, before dawn, were possible. And catching a sunrise over the sea in the still morning coolness would take your breath away. Staying in an old farmhouse is possible, not the kind of accommodation which would have suited you all as a family previously, but which now stretches your imagination. Long, glorious sunsets, slow coastal walks, ice creams, cream teas, talking to complete strangers as you explore bays and coves, who just seem to share your same interests, and who perhaps have also left their children at home for the first time. Wind and rain, yes glorious rain as you walk across moors where you encounter many fields of unattended horses and ponies, and cows! Quiet candlelit dinners. Cosy lunches interrupted by noisy and happy children, when your conversation always turns to your own grown up children and their children too. Yes, you have grandchildren now, and it isn't long before you will be needed once again, to love, support, and just be there for them as you did for their parents before. This is an oasis of time in a hectic world. A time between busy family needs and responsibilities, and it is as if you know it, and so this kind of holiday is special. Irreplaceable. Nor should be!

The spray carnation, and the snowdrop. Such simple and unassuming little flowers, either blooming in mass production, or growing for a few short weeks in early spring in out of the way places. Most people have a soft spot for the lowly snowdrop, and check the flower stands at any supermarket where you will see more buckets of budget priced carnations than anything else. Why our love of these humble flowers?

The most likely explanation is that these little blooms trigger memories somewhere in our deepest thoughts. A child's first posy to be given lovingly to their Mum. A stumbling way to say, "I love you". A memory of a long brisk winter's walk in the countryside when you come across a small wooded place laced with these wild little drooping headed flowers. Who can resist the urge to uproot a bunch or two of these snowdrops as a memento, and replant your memory into your own garden, or flowerpot at home. Perhaps desperately wishing to keep the feeling of that day alive for a little longer? Perhaps "snowdrop" could even be a pet name given to, or received from, a very special person.

Maybe the carnation was a buttonhole for you at a special occasion, or graced your Mum's or Gran's home every time you seemed to visit? Perhaps they were there because of a promise made many years before, and if only those soft gentle heads could speak, what a happy, yet sad story they would tell. The colours can be important too. The pure white of the snowdrop, can only speak of purity. The purity of a precious memory. Then there is the soft yellow carnation. Open and inviting, the colour invoking a vivid memory of a loved one, radiant in a dress of the same shade, with just a hint of gentle perfume. Yes, we can be blessed with memories, and especially good memories!

Cold and sinister, and so close to home! Hardly noticed against the bleak gray and overcast sea and hills, they come and go regularly for refitting and refurbishment. The deep waters of our lochs make for a perfect home base, and is a sad reminder of the fact that 'nation wars against nation' and that we live with the political decisions made on our behalf by men (and women) in high office who play their own version of 'war games' on our behalf!

Of course the other side of the coin is that we are an island nation, and therefore open to invasion from the sea. In this age of global terrorism, we do need to protect ourselves, and in the best way possible. That's where the nuclear submarine comes in. Like or loathe them, these vessels and their brave occupants help to keep us safe, and are a necessary evil. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about, so next time you see one of these forboding looking submarines off our shores, spare a thought for the men and women who risk their lives in a submerged tin can in the name of 'peacekeeping'.

The tall and majestic peak of Ben Lomond, the most southerly munro in Scotland, sits on the east side of "the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond". There are many mountains and lochs in Scotland, but none that surpass, or share the sentiment, or romantic overtones of this beautiful area, just a few short miles to the north of the city of Glasgow. The Ben and Loch have been the subject of numerous songs and poems over many years, and a visit to the shores of Loch Lomond, with an uninterrupted view of the neck and shoulders of this tourist attraction, will show why.

We all have our favourite places to visit, and this is one of mine. It doesn't matter that the view is the same, time after time, or that the weather is rain, hail or shine, it still draws me back, and to the same place at Duck Bay. As a family, we have picnicked there, played games, paddled and swam in the icy cold waters, yes even in summer! We walked the shores, ate in one of the local restaurants, and yes even climbed all the way to the peak of the Ben, over 3,000 feet up a long and winding track. Our children learned to walk there, and felt the first rush of cold water, as they sat in a rock pool of one of the many small tributaries feeding the main body of water. In the days before we had a car of our own, we would borrow one from one of our 'better off' relations and pile in as many as we could, and still close the doors (those were the days before seat belts, and passenger limits which exist today). Those were happy and carefree times, and perhaps made the foundation for happy family experiences, which in hindsight would become the reason for going back, even though my own family are grown with children of their own now. I suppose it's a way to try to relive, or reclaim a part of a bygone time.

"Making memories, out of gardens, from each tiny seed we'd sow" ... taken from a family poem written in warm reflection of a Granda who didn't have much to give, except his time and love. Oh well, when it comes to making memories, some things just don't change!

This very special sunrise was taken at Cocoa Beach, Florida in 2006. This will serve to balance out the sunsets already shown in the blog. It's nice to think in life we can have many sunrises, or new days, or new beginnings, where we can decide to change the way we do things, or even live. As time passes, we can become a better person, as life dishes out good and bad in what is sometimes unequal measure. I think it's how we react to, and deal with life's problems which makes our sunrises significant, and meaningful! Let's be thankful for all the sunrises we get in this life, because really, we only get one sunset. Now that's an incentive to make us appreciate our many sunrises.

More often than not, as the sun sets in the west of Scotland, over our rugged hills, the beauty is masked by rain or mist, and so the sunset is lost. However, there are times when the sky is cloudless and clear. In these circumstances, there can be no better place to witness the beauty of the colours of the setting sun. No filters or Photoshop colour trickery was used in these images, and yet they appear unreal. It is amazing the sights which can be seen from your own window! There is no need to travel the world for scenic majesty. It is right here in our own home town if only we open our eyes and minds to seeing them. This reminds me of the old saying, 'there are none so blind as those who will not see'. There is a real need for us to open up to what is around us. Close out your mind the bad stuff, and become more aware of the good in our creation, and in those around us too.

Rainbows are notoriously difficult to catch, and expose correctly. That's my way of saying, of course these photos could be better, but like you, I have no difficulty in seeing their beauty. They are elusive, and appear and disappear quickly, but when they are at the peak of their intensity, they are breathtaking. I fell under the spell of the rainbow about 21 months ago. Before then, I liked them and saw them in the sky, but didn't fully appreciate them. That changed. Life makes some things more significant to you than others, and such is the case for me, with rainbows. Every one tells a story, and has its own place. Each one is unique!

The road to Inverary, Argyle, wends its way from the west through the famous, and aptly named, 'Rest and be Thankful'! This place is steeped in Scottish history, and if the hills and rocks could talk, what stories they could tell. I have visited this historic town many times, and driven the same road, but each time the scenery looks more majestic. The lochs, hills and valleys are magnificent in any weather, and in all seasons. In all this beauty, there is a hamburger stand on the viewpoint at one of the most picturesque points, and to say it is out of place is an understatement. Having said that, he was doing a roaring trade when we were there. As a reminder of the ruggedness and steep risings of the hills, we passed the site where an RAF Tornado came down while on a training mission just a few days before. It is no coincidence that this area is used extensively by the RAF, but also serves as a reminder as to how unforgiving these hills are. In that respect, nothing has changed in Scottish history over the centuries. During Clan 'wars' these hills were not very forgiving, even then. In these modern times, visitors are attracted in droves to the beauty of the area, and climbers and airmen use it to test themselves against the steep, rugged craggy rock faces, and some will lose their lives in the process! To preserve the security of the visitors and tourists, we also need the risk-takers. Such is the strange world we live in.

Rock Pool at Wemyss Bay

Anyone who knows the area around Wemyss Bay, or indeed the West Coast of Scotland will also know of its rugged beauty. This is a relatively calm image, but the scene can so easily change within hours, if not minutes. This image was taken a short walk from my own flat. I am spoiled for scenery to enjoy and photograph at any time of the year, and try to make the most of what I believe to be a magnificent part of God's creation. I am happy to be considered as a creationist, and cannot subscribe to the theory (yes it still is a theory) of evolution. Darwin did a 'job' on us all, and drove a wedge between human 'thinkers', but more so the church. Oh, I do believe that our Almighty God may have used some of the other parts of his creation to finish his work, but I cannot believe that we evolved from some single cell, and kept evolving until we get to mankind. Where did the single cell come from? If it came about as a result of some gasseous accident, then where did this gas come from? Evolution does not, and cannot explain how the first cell came out.... from nothing!! Wow, what a great, creative God we have!