Priti had to remind herself why she had chosen Craemuir Cottage for her Christmas writing retreat. The cottage would have been ideal in summer, or at least, what passed for summer in Morayshire. Priti had never visited the Scottish Highlands in the warmer months, but from what the woman in the local shop had told her, summer there was weather Priti could expect in London during May. That would have been perfect; neither t...

It had been over a year since their last holiday, work commitments putting pay to any of their plans. Then Nicola's workmate explained she had a family caravan in Scotland, and a short break seemed more than possible.  Peter and Nicola had been together since university and moved in together soon after. Since graduating and finding employment, they had found themselves dropping into a rut, each day falling into the same r...

Ower the haugh and yont a glen there is a bonny dun Where the corbie flies agin the sky, afore the setting sun,   Wi talloun and cracklings we sit doon and have a little drink And efter a wee heavy or two, we heat up a Cullen Skink,   It'll tek ye frae all ye woes, nae matter what th' weather On the fair we'll coorie doon, and make love among the heather   No one but ye, my love would I tek to oor special place Where I ca...

I love the works of the Scottish poet, Robert Burns. He wrote many famous poems and songs. He was less well-known for his raunchy, sexy poems. This is my tribute to him and, were he alive today, I'm certain that he would approve (in fact, I would bet good money that he would be writing here on Lush!) I’ve written it phonetically, in broad Scots, with an English translation underneath. I would recommend listening to the au...

The room is dark and dingy, grime crawls its way up the walls in a random incoherent pattern as one light dangles on the ceiling casting an anonymous yellow glow over a single bed, which dominates the room is laid in the centre of the room. The walls around the outside of the room to the sides of the bed have 2 tables planted firmly against them, on these tables rests an assortment of items consisting of 2 belts laid out...

The aroma of marijuana scents the air. Sean takes another puff of his joint and gently hands his camera to me. “Hold the camera steady, Aria. The world needs to watch the artist work, baby.” He grabs the bucket of magenta house paint and walks over to the tarp covered terrace. Sean pours the bucket of paint over his head, the magenta paint cascading down his face, picking up pace as it flows down his chest, over his genit...