The finger?

We’re like meridians, all beginning and ending in the same place. We spread out from the beginning and go our separate ways, over seas and mountains and islands and deserts, each telling our own story, as different as they could possibly be. But in the end we all converge and our ends are as much the same as our beginnings.

We start by having a look round Crail. The harbour with its working creek boats, the pottery with its kitsch designs. Then it’s onto the coastal path.

The weather is fantastic and the views over the coast are amazing. Much of the day, however, we seem to be skirting golf courses. “Beware golf behind” is a warning carved into way markers.

Sometimes we walk across vast beaches of sand, while at others we skid along narrow paths of thick, dark mud. Twice we arrive at beaches where there’s a sign saying “at high tide, wait here till tide recedes”. No waiting is needed, but we do have to take a muddy, clamber the second time.

At lunch we stop near Kingsbarn for a toasty at the Cheese Toast shack. The toasties are great - cooked to perfection on a griddle.

Twenty minutes later, we’re helping a women who has hurt her ankle badly. She has collected an entourage of other walkers, one of whom has given her a fireman’s lift several hundred yards. Claire advises them to call the ambulance, makes the woman comfortable, and we continue.

We never actually go into St Andrews, catching the bus from the caravan park on the outskirts. It’s a rush to get to the Traverse for Mark Thomas’ Showtime on the Frontline - a well-intentioned, but ultimately unsatisfactory, mix of pathos, politics, and Palestinian stand-up.

I collect Angus from Granny Mac’s in Penicuik where his drum kit has found a new home. He has been practicing with Catriona’s new band. Busy, busy.