The Herald

Taymouth Castle, for those of you who have not had the pleasure of standing, pygmy-like, beneath its monolithic walls, is the sort of place which turns you temporarily into a revolutionary. You just need to breathe the air chilled by the grim, dark stone to receive a clear message about immorality and arrogance; to know that this quarry-emptying monstrosity is an enduring symbol of self-aggrandisement; of oppression of the poor. If buildings have souls, I don't think I have ever been in the presence of a colder one. Over the years I've visited lots of castles: silly ones, grand ones, pretentious ones, beautiful ones. But Taymouth is the only one which induced in me, instantaneously, the mood of an angry peasant: offended, sickened even, by its sheer ugliness of both scale and spirit. I don't think I am alone in that reaction. It is no surprise at all that the castle has lain empty these past 30-odd years, unable to find a buyer even among foolish American celebrities. Taymouth, the seat (and conceit) of the Campbells of Breadalbane, once one of Scotland's wealthiest landowning families, has been a grade-one turkey ever since it was built, faux ancient, around 1806.