Everyone in the world wonders about the meaning of life. Most people eventually realise that it is love and that all those trite and banal love songs are not so trite and banal after all. But the love that lasts, and merges two into one, is a rare and wonderful thing to behold. It is there in the comfortable silences, the understood ways of doing things, the taking of a hand. It is there in the sympathetic tolerance of dreams and desires, perhaps never to be fulfilled, and the compromises willingly and ungrudgingly made. My painting and poem, “Auchenshuggle”, is about such a love and relationship. I don’t think the couple ever went to Kathmandu or Bahrain but I think they did go to Auchenshuggle. I like to think that this is them waiting in the bus shelter for the bus to go home again. She has gone with him, to Auchenshuggle, and he will go home with her, satisfied that they have at least seen one of those “far away places, with strange sounding names”. They are both content with their compromise. The meaning of life is found in small things and small places.