Highlands

At this point we are just passing Cluanie Inn, a cloying bouquet of sick still in the air (if i was a wine bore it would be something like: "I am getting carrot cake, a hint of curdled milk, and a soupcon of king prawn cocktail sandwich..."). Poor Finny.

Weather not brill, but nice to be out of the city. Couldn't help humming Planets by Teenage Fanclub:

Were going over the country
And into the highlands
To look for a home
Were leaving nothing behind us
And no one will find us
When we're on our own
I feel the planets surround me
They gather round me
We're moving out of the city
We'll pack up the case
And make for the road
Where flowing rivers will bind us
Where shadows will find us
Now we're on our own
I feel the planets surround me
They gather round me
I feel the planets surround me
They gather round me