have been round the world. in a short space of time. in paradise in sunnyside guest farm in south Africa near Lesotho where baboons bark at you in the early dawn and where, because you have travelled so far for so short a time, you get up at five and climb that golden rock, yes, the one called face rock because of the shape of the wise ancient one, where the dangerous baboons live and sit and swing and pull up roots and snakes and make a right racket, and walking through the valley before the sun has come up you hear a crack resonate like gun fire but it's not gun fire, it's a bull whip and a man on horse back is encouraging the cows to pasture - crack, crack and its echo is still in my imagination, the way the sun did come up from behind the rocks is also there and the way twenty of us met together under this mighty rock to tell stories and bring to our work and our lives the food of story. And to it the rhythm of good food, of people of walk slow and bend close, and to the stories we shared - some in the workshop, some over breakfast. Here's a breakfast story.

A man called Roland runs a hotel. There is a staff member he values highly called Thomas. Thomas is perhaps sixty now and has never gone to school. Thomas though, can speak thirteen languages and Thomas will remember you. If you come to the hotel and order a drink then return a year of two later, he'll remember what drink you ordered and he'll bring it to you on a tray, without you having to ask for it. Recently Roland found Thomas in great distress, crying in a cupboard, sobbing his heart out. Roland couldn't console him. He tried to ask him what was the matter but Thomas couldn't stop the tears. It was only after his tears had run dry he was able to turn to his manager and say - it's my daughter - she's passed her matric with 13 honours.

After Roland told me the story over breakfast both of us had tears in our eyes. We too cried for the black girl who had what her father never got.

And many more such stories.

I went via Dubai. There's a melting pot of a place - in some ways like a brave new world where racism is an ugly fact of history.

and back to Scotland where Hamish Henderson wrote -

roch the wind in the clear day's dawing

blaws the cloods heilster gaudy o'er the bay

but there's mair nor a roch wind blawing

through the great glen o the world the day

.....broken faimlies in lands we've harried

will curse Scotland the brave nae mair nae mair

black and white ane tae l'ither mairried