The open road, even the bumpy A9 qualifies. Notorious, straight and twisty. Still much improved from what we had in the glorious 70s but not right yet. A hitch-hiker's nightmare then of rumbling timber lorries and lost tourists, my memory fails me, pretty sure we caught a bus instead and the rain didn't stop. Now the towns are bypassed and the trees have matured as the road signs fade. Tourists stop for coffee and tatty gifts. The exhausted camels just marched off into history, never to be seen again. Perhaps the natives captured them and they met with a grisly fate or escaped to the circus. But the steady and reliable River Tay flows past quietly, under the stone bridges, on a long haul down to Dundee and the sea.
We estimated that the tree below was one hundred and fifty one years, seventy two days, eight hours, twenty six minutes and seven seconds old when it was dispatched. We could be wrong. The lower picture is of a folly. Nearby, along the river bank, actual fish jump out of the water to catch flies and insects, just when you're not quite looking.
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