Halfway

Roughly. 

Spent the three hours on the train stuffing our faces with sandwiches, cookies and crisps and after he'd jammed the plumbing of the local Tesco and we'd slapped on the sun cream, we set off for Dunkeld - 72 miles away and at the wrong end of a wee bugger of a wind.

That and my shoes. The bloody shoes.

But the second half - that cruise down a long hill to Pitlochry - was very welcome although there still came that point where you can't wait for this to be done. And then it was and there was beer and food and a bed to doze on. 

It was a bit disconcerting when he asked if I fancied a fuck.

But look at him - hottest day of the year and he's got a insulator on his head, a buff and a long sleeved top.