Good old Scottish 4-seasons-in-a-day conditions this afternoon.

A nice wee hillwalk up in Glen Lyon - the hailstorms, 50-odd mph windy gusts and occasional monsoon-level downpours, all interspersed by patches of tremendous blue sky and sunlight certainly kept things interesting, unlike the awesome highland adventure safari reserve spotted on the way home.

Dunno what the middle sign was about - the creature is some kind of weasel/ferret/stoat done up like one of those "118" runners. Considering I could've probably squeezed under the gate in question without opening it, I'm not quite sure what they were getting at.

As an aside, legend has it that Fortingal, toward the foot of Glen Lyon, was the birthplace of Pontious Pilate, the geezer who famously dobbed Jesus over to the feds, condemning him to torture at the hands of Mel Gibson and his mates. This theory has always had more than a faint whiff of bullshit about it to me. Anyone shed any light? Maybe I'll google for it sometime.