Off we go, through the woods to Torrylin Cairn (remains of.)
800 yards my beaver. Scotland, or Arran at least, seems to use a different method of measurement than the rest of the UK. I would suggest they measure as the crow flies.
Seems mean to cavil here though, as I actually wanted exercise and was happy to climb, descend and puff and pant.
And I felt it was worth it. Claudette was very much in my mind that day. More than usual I mean. I did cry when I got there. And on the way there. And I did shout a sweary word at the sea, which sucked it up imperviously.
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Life's hard you know, so strike a pose on a Cadillac
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