On The Dangers Of Sinking Under Ashworth’s Merrymakers And Their Like

I became distracted earlier today, turned a little too suddenly in my chair, and knocked over one of the many piles of old photographs that are stacked on my desk and the surrounding cupboards and shelves. Assessing the perilous nature of my surroundings, I realised that I am in danger of sinking below a tide of old photographs – some of the known, some of the unknown; some of places visited, many of places I have yet to discover.

When the collapsed stack of photos came to a rest, the one on the top was this picture of Ashwood’s Merrymakers, who were obviously thrilling audiences at Scoonie Brae in Fife eighty or so years ago. I have no idea where the picture came from and I have no known connection with either the troupe of the venue.

I know I should get rid of such pointless ephemera, but I can’t. I am besotted with images. I re-stack the pile of photographs, knowing that one day my body will be found buried beneath a mountain of other people’s memories.

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