Fish Vans of Pitenweem : A purely imagined tale. But weirdly David
who lives in the Pentlands and Tom who lives in Tillicoultry both buy
fish from a Pitenween Van. Different drivers. Different vans. But (and
this might be a bit spooky) both vans were off the road for a while
getting repaired after hitting a deer. Different deers. Big shout out to
Eve Keepax for giving voice to the deer.

Lyrics

Fish Vans of Pittenweem
The Deer
I’m a shy creature
Living a solitary existence roaming the woods, hills and farmland of central Scot-
land.
I have one sense, with windows in my eyes, nose, ears and body.
I am one instant away from a state of high alert
from danger and flight/I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense
I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense
All is clear/I carry on
I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense
There is a fine drizzle in the air/It sharpens some smells
Smells that don’t threaten/Or tell me to run
I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense/I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense
I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense/I carry on/I stop, I raise a front leg, I sense
I jump the fence
I have a recurring dream.
I am flopped out on a slab my back is open and someone is running big rubbery
fingers down my spine. Feeling every bone. At the same it’s as if I don’t have any
bones. Just wet bleeding flesh. But this morning just before I wake. There are
strange flickers of green moss, woodland seeping into my recurring dream. Flash-
es of leaves, bark and red berries with the smell of fungus and rot. I wake just
before the alarm.
There’s a small fleet of vans that leave Pitenweem early in the morning. They are
heading out to the villages, towns and hamlets of Clackmannanshire, Fife, East
Lothian, West Lothian and Perthshire. They head out in all weathers. There’s not
much of a conversation you can have when you’re selling fish. They mainly chat
about the weather or a special meal being cooked with today’s delicacy. ‘Any kip-
pers?’ ‘No no one’s buying them anymore’ ‘The haddock are pretty big today’
Today there’s a real chill in the air and it’s taken over Paul’s bones. So he’s head-
ing home early. ‘How’s the wee fella doing?’ There is a drizzle in the air that
leaves a thin sheen behind the windscreen wipers. It makes it difficult for Paul to
look ahead. I dip I full beam. I dip I full beam. I merge with the night. I dip I full
beam. This strange shape.
Fingers slide absent mindedly along my spine to see of there’s any bones left