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Gateway to the Highlands

Somehow the weather in Scotland seems to know when I'm outside and it starts raining. I can look out of the window and it's a lovely day and then deciding not to wrap myself up in bin liners I'll go downstairs, walk around the corner and torrential rain will ensue.

The train ride through to Perth was fairly interesting and I always appreciate the Scottish landscape after I've been out of the country for a while. The only unpleasant aspect of the trip over was that I was probably sitting a bit too close to the toilet which apparently, from the smell, something had died in recently.

The dentist was fairly surprised to see me and pointed out that I hadn't been there since March 2001, but he seemed quite happy after checking me out orally, made my teeth a new shade of white, and the Black and Decker stayed in his toolbag.

Perth was grey, windy and wet. Going there used to be a big day out for me when I worked and I would do some shopping or go to Littlejohns for dinner, soaking up the joy of having temporarily escaped Dundee. It didn't seem to have changed now much but it didn't make me as aroused as it used to. It took about fifteen minutes to walk around the main part of town, which was fairly empty apart from old and unemployed people huddling in the warmth of the shopping centre and most of the shops were identical to those on any other High Street in Britain. I had a keen desire to extract value from the 9.50 I'd paid for my day return ticket but finally I had to admit to myself that there was no point in standing around in the drizzle any longer and I caught the train back to Glasgow.

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