Recently protected & refurbished, this is Fatlips Tower in The Scottish Borders. We were here a few years ago when the gaff was in a state of disrepair and we saw : fireplaces 30 ft in the air, tattered remains of ornate wallpaper fluttering in the open-roofed breeze, the outlines of picture frames etched with dirt and the smoke of coal, shroud-like, upon the walls. Then, with pith helmet and machete we hacked out way through 3 metre high nettles; now we ambled up a sensible path. It’s right for things to be protected for future generations, however, even buildings must be allowed to die – the clay and lime of their structure, returning to the earth.
Death is what gives life it’s incredible & vital meaning. Imagine this place crumbling, it’s stones festooned with ivy and little white flowers. Is that any less glorious? To quote Peter Hammill and to keep up the vague thread of rock ‘n’ roll : “Take away the threat of death, and all you’re left with is a round of make-believe”
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