Small and far away

I swear I won't tell anyone, and if I do may I be struck down by every disease a middle-aged woman can get, which as you and I know is a hell of a lot of diseases.

There's an easy walk around some Tilhill forestry. The paths are gravel and tarmac, leading up to the historic mobile phone mast on the top of the hill, where we eat our lunch of leftover chorizo tacos. It's dry and not too windy, but after ten minutes of sitting the chill begins to seep in and we start our descent.

This is a popular route, it seems, and we pass four or five groups of walkers, including a solitary male (not technically a group, I suppose), three middle aged women, and three generations of a family (their youngest girl is complaining about the walk, so Claire blithely lies "there's a lovely ice cream shop at the top" as we walk by).

Back in Plockton, I snooze to recover from my exertions. I'm woken by a call from a friend in Broughton who has some sad news. Our friend Damion, who has been in the grip of a deep depression, was found, dead, yesterday in woods near his mother's home. Grim, with no upside.

So, we go to the pub, and raise a glass to his memory. Claire calls Megan, who knew Damion from the bus. I speak to Rachel, who is on holiday with her family - she had been contacted by the police when Damion went missing on Sunday.

Next appointment is The Shores for our farewell dinner. We share a seafood platter - mussels, langoustine, scallops, crab. I choose cheese for afters - why I continue to do this in Scotland is beyond me, because it's invariably overpriced and disappointing. Overall though, a good meal and a satisfying end to our visit.