A dreadful undertaking

I always love coming back to Aberdeen; in the unexpected sunshine of an out-of-season heatwave, the granite city sparkles.  At the recently scrubbed Marischal College this is particularly true, though I'm not sure its accumulated grime didn't increase its grandeur.

Marischal College in 2007, grimy and ungutted.

Inside the shining shell, however, the heathens of the city council have gutted this glorious old lady.  Her innards have been ripped out, replaced with plastic and wires.  At the windows, roll-down blinds hide the fluorescent strip-lights newly affixed to the ceiling.

I ought to be glad that the old council building across the road is being abandoned, glad that that shocking folly of the 1960s is being obliterated, glad that attentions have turned back to one of north-east Scotland's finest buildings.  I ought to be, but I'm not.

Marischal College is dead, and ghouls are reanimating her cadaver in a monstrous fashion.
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