Canalysis

Finally took first full advantage of British Summer Time and went for a cycle after coming home from work. Intending a gentle half-hour circuit round Maryhill, the light was so golden and the air so fresh, I pedalled out on the Forth-Clyde Canal to Kirkintilloch.

I rested and swigged from the water bottle on the bridge over the old railway, next to a bloke with two hefty orange plastic bags, peering over the parapet. There was a squeal of brakes and three coppers emerged from an unmarked van, and legged it under the arch beneath us out of sight.

There was no time to investigate further. The sun dipped below the horizon over Lambhill. It was time to head home.