Strange/lovely place, East Lothian. Ragged sandstone keeps and castles spike flat, blood-soaked fields that gentry-farmers reap so they can send their large-toothed sons up to Belhaven, Loretto and Sandhurst. Audi-driving Edinburgh commuters flash past lost islands of ex-mining, two-buses-a-day, pebble-dashed misery. Hungry seagulls rail at the North Sea all along the golf coast. Not surprise Mr Dick got a bit...introspective at times. That and all the drucks, obvs.