The town is nestled into the hillside. When I arrive, I emerge from a small woods and I can see the town laid out before me and I follow the road as it sweeps around and I am in the
centre. I know I am in the centre because all the streets collide and there is a small statue.
I am surrounded by strong red stone which directly meets the red cobbles of the street; it’s robust and strong but softened by glimpses of green in the distance.
A man in a tweed jacket notice’s me reading the statue and asks me if I know where Barrie’s house is. I can wander around wide streets and small closes and I am comfortable.
Except on the High street when I have to go on the road to let an old lady use the path and I am fighting with a car for space. But I can duck out of this place into a small lane and find something else.
The street is quiet and sleepy only for some people waiting for the bus but as I wander I pass by kitchen
windows and they are alive and the coffee shops are alive and although they are small they look comfortable and inviting.
This is Kirriemuir.