Marooned.

We had a long hard ride today into the depths of East Lothian; after hills and a head wind we stopped for lunch at a little village with the unlikely name of Spott (not to be confused with a nearby small settlement known as Little Spott). While there, we watched a swallow flying around with a feather in his beak when he should have been collecting flies; then he dropped it, circled round and caught it, dropped it again, and circled and caught it again. Then another bird joined in. The fun went on for some time and gave me great pleasure. I know that the corvids will play, but I've never seen swallows indulge in such an obvious way before.

Then there were even more hills resulting in a very slightly, shortened ride home.

It was on our way to the even more hills that we were confronted by this large flock of unruly sheep, it took five men, five dogs and two quads to control them as they left the roadway littered with untidy clumps of fleece, one of them even managed to shed its entire coat in one piece. At the time of the blip, I was completely surrounded; had I been that way inclined it could have been quite scarey.