Fortingall standing stone.

Marks the spot where most of the villagers were buried when the plague struck.
I took a stroll through the village in the morning mist, landrovers rushing past to meet for today's shoot. Funny that the only person who stopped to talk to me was a young woman working in the village hotel. And where was she from? Budapest. We discussed cameras, she wants to buy one having studied photography. We discussed Brexit. She was more tolerant than me. She was thin, didn't have the right clothes for the weather and was waiting for the bus in the middle of nowhere, but she did have the time and interest to talk to someone more than twice her age.
More about the fine little arts and crafts village that we are staying in here.