I have been living in a shadow land for the last few weeks.
To my shame, I didn’t enter it with the best of grace. However, once I was in, I found a parallel world of possibilities I had forgotten and opportunities I had been missing.
My entry into this world came late on an atrociously foggy Tuesday in Arbroath when I watched a bus driver and two young mothers chase a one-armed tipsy man through the damp and gloomy night.
That incident was the pinnacle of a dreadful day. To my surprise my old car expired after just 185,000 miles and I had to travel by bus and train between Arbroath and Dundee in the crucial referendum week.
I got to Kingsway without incident on the first day but when I left mid-evening, I felt downcast by the mist that menaced my trudge to the bus stop.
The night spiralled downwards. The Arbroath bus didn’t come, I had to get a town bus to the railway station and arrived as the Aberdeen train was pulling away.
As I stood on the dark and soulless platform I have to confess a degree of self-pity developed.
By the time I got back to Arbroath and was waiting for yet another bus from the town to my home I was visibly fed up.
I scowled my way on to the bus and didn’t notice my fellow passengers.
I only became aware of anyone else when a tweedy old man with one arm bounced his way towards the exit and wandered off into the deep fog.
The bus driver shouted it was not his stop and jumped from his cab. Two women joined the chase and the man, disorientated by the conditions, was guided back on board.
Unlike me, the passengers had noticed each other and were looking out for each other.
At that point my attitude changed. I resolved to make the most of this brief pause without a car, this enforced disruption to routine.
On my travels I have renewed old acquaintances and forged new ones.
I met a man who prides himself on being a real Scottish Traveller. He told me of the Travellers’ parliament which meets in a Perthshire field each September. It might even be true.
I listened in a Dundee bar as a veteran of the 1980s football casuals movement spoke about a recent union of rival casuals from around Scotland.
Nowadays they meet up in Dundee, their wives go shopping while the blokes recall their glory days. After all, it was mostly a bit of dancing about back then, he said.
I have had the time to look at Dundee through pedestrian eyes and see a city centre firmly on the up. A developing waterfront, specialist shops and restaurants opening.
I even met a fan of my column in the Club Bar. He looked at my picture, looked at me and said, hey, you’re that baldy ****.