Methil drawing.

East coast grey, some might call it silver, depends on how full your glass. Today there is a slight sparkle on the water as the small boats make their way back to their moorings. Swallows skim low over the sea, rising sharply before the seawall and back around to dock number two. I am drawing the stuff of fishing – creels and buckets, flags, poles and other useful things, spilling out, a guddle, fankle of ropes. I look out beyond the walls of the harbour to the island in the Forth and beyond, the Pentland Hills, their edges rubbed graphite on paper. The only cololur here is that of tackle, buoys and boats of course – neons of orange and yellow and saltire blue. Everything crossed for the football tonight.