Read: Burning Your Own by Glenn Patterson ★★★★☆ 📚 1969, Mal is 10. I’d have been 11. Mal lives in a estate in Northern Ireland. Great, horrible, atmosphere. Football with his pals and building bonfires with civil rights and politics in the background.

And so ends the strangest year in my teaching career. Felt like a long one. It is had to recall August now. I think I might have learnt more this year than any other. Pandemics bring a unusual perspective. It was somehow easier to see the best of pupils this year.

Walking alone the canal this morning I noticed a fisher’s float moving. I stopped to watch expecting a catch. The fisherman noticed my interest and explained the float was being moved by a robot bait fish!

Started before 8, clouds very low and dark. Saw a couple of jays around the forestry block. Given the lack of visibility I spent a lot of time looking at the ground, sparkling with wild flowers mostly tiny.

By the Time I’d reached the top of Beinn Bhreac the visibility was down to 10–20 meters, luckily the newish fence leads the way to Beinn Reoch, larks and meadow pipets and larks singing. A deer in the gloom near Reoch.

As I went down Reoch the sky began to clear, the cobbler slowly emerged. Saw a wee lizard vanish into some moss. As I went up Tullich Hill the clouds lifted even more, and a bit of breeze got up. Lunch at he pool near the top. A few ravens about, one of which, entertained me lifting and diving on the uplift.

Quite a few deer on the sides of Tullich hill as I went down, back to the car by 2

Map and photos (mostly flowers): walkmap