THE BINN

When Pauline suggested we have a trip to The Binn, I thought she meant clearing out my apartment and taking unwanted items to the trash. Not a great suggestion for a day off.

The Binn in question was, in actual fact, a small 193m hill across the Firth of Forth in Fife. I can actually see it from my apartment front window.

I have only known its name for the past few months, when Pauline first mentioned it, but I have looked at it often over the passing few decades since I moved to Edinburgh. In fact, anyone who has installed a TV aerial will know which hill I am talking about, as on its summit sits Craigkelly transmitting station mast, some 125m high, beaming out TV signals to a vast area since 1968.

We stepped off the train at the picturesque Fife coastal village of Aberdour, at its well kept little station, which has been in operation since 1890. Our first destination was the former shipbuilding port of Burntisland, just three miles away, along a foot and cycle path. I have cycled this way a number of times, but never walked the route, so it was a pleasant change. A ferry used to cross between Burntisland and Granton in Edinburgh until 1890, when the Forth Rail Bridge opened.

It hugs the shoreline, as does the railway line running parallel, and when I've passed this way on board a train I would regularly spot seals basking on exposed rocks. But on this day the tide was in, and there were no seals to be seen.

Rock carvings dating back 4,000 years have been found in the area, and there has been a settlement at Burntisland for 2,000 years, when the Roman commander Agricola set up a camp at nearby Dunearn Hill, using the natural harbour as his access point. In the 12th century a town had started to grow, known then as Wester Kinghorn, when the monks of Dunfermline Abbey owned the harbour. In 1601 James VI chose the town as an alternative site for the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and it was at this time when the King James Bible came into being.

Our destination was the top of a craggy escarpment, rising steeply to the north behind the town. The Binn is the remains of a volcanic plug, formed some 300 million years ago, and serves to shelter the town of Burntisland form the worst of the northerly winds.

Very quickly we were on the slopes of the hill, and though the forecast was mixed, we enjoyed bright weather all the way. The path hugs the top edge of the crag as it curves across, and in under an hour we were passing the giant transmitter mast that I had seen from a distance for so many years.

In the distance dark clouds were gathering, which gave a sharp contrast to the sunlit field of corn beside the path. We sat a while on the top, taking in the uninterrupted view across the Firth of Forth expanse to Edinburgh in the distance.

As we neared the base of the walk a sharp shower came across, and as we sheltered under the trees Pauline pointed out that there was once a small settlement where these woods now stood. I had seen evidence of a building as we had entered but all other signs had long since vanished.

Finishing our little jaunt at the old Port building in the town centre, we headed for the railway station of Burntisland for our short journey home.

When I take the trash out in the future, and glance across to the TV mast atop The Binn, I will think of it in a different way.

PORTOBELLO

I am very fortunate to live just metres from the beach front of the capital city of Scotland. I have lived in the area for 40 years altogether, and it has never lost any of its appeal.

Though I am on the outskirts, our transport links are excellent should I have the need to venture in to the city itself. And there are many reasons to do so throughout the year.

It has the worlds largest arts festival for one thing, during the month of August, which doubles the population of the city. At the same time it plays host to a book festival, preceded by a jazz festival. My main interest of course is the internationally renowned Edinburgh International Film Festival in June.

Then there's Hogmanay, again bringing tens of thousands of people here.

It is the seat of the Scottish Government, and a centuries old castle dominates the city horizon, and the remains of a millennia old extinct volcano sits between the castle and its coastline where I live.

But for all of this, I prefer to spend the majority of my time in Portobello.

During this past couple of weekends we have had our very own, busy, festival-feel time of it. The previous weekend saw the mile-long promenade play host to a variety of musicians, all busking their hearts out in the late summer sunshine.

Then just last weekend we had two events; the "Porty Art Walk", and the Village Show. The latter brings everyone in the community together, and always seems to have good, sunny weather.

Locals can have a stall table to sell their crafts and homebaking, while other tents sell beer, hotdogs, coffee and cake, and right in the centre there is a gazebo which is the stage area for local bands to perform.

Around mid way through a dog show was held, with local teenagers acting as judges, followed just a few minutes later with a traditional duck race.

My favourite thing though was an old, traditional model railway. It was mesmerising just watching two trains going round and round the large oval track.

Portobello is known as a place of many creative people, and for a number of days spanning the weekend the Porty Art Walk takes place. This comprises outdoor installations of art, like the bicycle on the prom wall pictured above; displays in several shop windows; and a few local artists open their homes up for people to wander in and enjoy their work.

Even when the sun doesn't shine, and the beach is empty, there is a welcoming warmth, and I can't imagine calling anywhere else home.

As I made my way home after the Village Show, with a smile on my face, I stopped for a moment to enjoy a little corner of wild flowers, which just added to the colour that is Portobello.