THE MORNING AFTER

At about 8.30am on the beautiful clear morning of January 28th, I looked out my window at the town of Lerwick, just going to bed after its biggest all-night party of the year. Out on the bright calm sea, a large ship was moving slowly between the Bard Head and Mousa, and a coastal tanker was picking up the pilot off the Bressay Light. In the street below, one of Andrew Morrison's buses crawled past, coming to the end of its shift as an Up-Helly-A' squad transport. I smiled at its destination display, which was sporting a "Have a Nice Day" message. It was closely followed by a council gritter, indicating icy roads somewhere. A couple of young women, wearing their glad-rags, stopped on the pavement opposite to adjust their footwear before continuing their homeward walk, blissfully unaware that they had been watched from my second-floor window. They looked so lovely. I sighed, turned away, and got to work on a painting. Just another day at the Tait Gallery had begun.