This slag-tipping operation used to light up my bedroom ceiling at night in Blackhill.
A rosy glow started as a glimmer on the distemper that swelled and grew until the bedroom flushed into a fiery pink that transformed it into an exotic boudoir just for a moment.
Alas it soon disappeared and returned me to a bleak white reality. But just for a moment it was transformed and made me look at things creatively.
Bedtimes were certainly interesting in Blackhill then.