After we got home I opened my birthday party doggy bag to engage in some snacking and this was the mangled face that gazed sightlessly back at me. That one remaining glazed eye, the broken and disfigured features, the single tooth in a sliced-off rictus grin. I won’t sleep for weeks.
It was a fine wee party, and for good folks too. Holly wanted to feed the ducks in the pond nearby when it all got a bit hectic, so the three of us did just that. There were moorhens and swans in with the ducks, the swans are very tame and they repeatedly bit my fingers as I fed them while Holly giggled away and said excited Hello’s to the big burds.
A little walk followed and I found myself carrying Holly onto the West Highland Way on my shoulders. I still recognise every feature of the track, and that’s slightly unsettling.
I don’t know what it is about The Way that has such a hold on me, I drive beside it all the time, I know it like the walk to the bus stop (well, when I was at school, jeez, when’s the last time I was on a bus?), but I often sit and think about going back.
I’ve proved things and learned things, been proud and embarassed, been joyful and frustrated on those 90-odd miles and I think it’s time to go again. Nothing fancy this time, once I’ve got up to date with all my stuff I’ll just up and go, before the midges wake up.
Holly ate Spongebob Slaughteredpants without a second thought.