I was off grid for the last week, as I celebrated my birthday on the lovely Isle of Arran off the west coast of Scotland.
Arriving in Glasgow on the Virgin train from Euston (only 25 minutes late!) I was engulfed by Scotland nostalgia. The craic, the banter in Glasgow was great - I just love being called 'pal'. It felt like a homecoming.
Brilliant weather on the island, where a bunch of my nearest and dearest had a few days of heroic drinking, dancing to cheesy 80s pop (including Flock of Seagulls) and vigorous walking. My faith in humanity was restored: I lost my wallet on a walk on a ridge near Goatfell and some kind fellow hiker turned it into the police. The polus (as they call them in Scotland) even came round to the converted church that we were staying at to drop the wallet off. I don't know who that kind soul was, he didn't leave his name. But bless you, sir, bless you.
It was a big birthday and despite having great fun, I was feeling contemplative. It has not been the best of year's for your humble correspondent, and in many ways I was feeling melancholy about what has been lost - but maybe for the first time in a long while I'm thinking about going forward than back. Although I wouldn't mind eventually going back to Glasgow.
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