George and I walked from Falkirk Grahamston to Grangemouth the other day. I hadn’t set out with Waste Stories intentions, but waste and stories reveal themselves in most places, whether I’m actively looking for them or not. I just can’t take the glasses off. Our route took us along the canal, which of course meant encounters with shopping trolleys and shoes.

More on shopping trolleys (and bicycles) and their relationship with water and bridges in potential future archaeologies of waste later.

On the outskirts of Grangemouth, we took a short detour down Grange Lane. It was the sight of a grand gateway that drew us in.

We couldn’t quite see the temple of industry that must surely have lain beyond.

We continued on to the harbour at the end of the lane. The sun shone on the tranquil waters.

There was noone else around. We figured the waterside restaurants and bars that must surely serve visitors to the Grangemouth Yacht Club in the high season had all temporarily relocated (or perhaps were in dry dock for a re-fit).

As we left, we contemplated the evident local pride in this beauty spot.