Life, death, and weather

Since we are not yet fully comfortable with the idea that people from the next village are as human as ourselves, it is presumptuous in the extreme to suppose we could ever look at sociable, tool-making creatures who arose from other evolutionary paths and see not beasts but brothers, not rivals but fellow pilgrims journeying to the shrine of intelligence.

We prepare the house for an influx of people. Philip, Richard, and I attach fence posts to the trailer to bear the coffin. Jonah arrives with the trailer, just in time for the first white-out of the morning.

We haul the coffin onto the trailer and strap it down. In a lull in the snow, a procession accompanied the quad westward to Annatt, occasionally helping push the quad up the tougher, steeper slopes. Debbie follows with John’s favourite pony.

There’s a crowd of waterproofed people at the graveyard, enclosed by the walls that John built. It all goes smoothly. The sun comes out. Quite a few people share their memories of John. Ewan plays a tune on the harmonica.

As the weather closes in again, I steal away. I pick up my rucsac and, head down, stomp sadly over the hill. The squall peters out and by the time I reach William and Cathy’s I’m seriously overheating. I leave the waterproofs hanging in their wood shed with a small note explaining their provenance.

I get to the car just as the next squall arrives. Safe in my metal box, the road looks passable. As I climb out of Badralloch, the snow on the road thickens until, at the top of the pass, my wheels are spinning. I reverse a hundred meters and take a run at the final ascent - and get over without slippage.

I take the rest of the descent slowly. The main road is covered too, but there are signs of recent gritting. My speed climbs to 30. After a community minibus overtakes me, I risk 40.

At Tore, I leave my wellies and sleeping bag with Ailsa, head into Inverness, and jump the EasyJet to Gatwick. Warm in my mum’s flat, I eat tea and toast.