Okay, let's start as we mean to go on. Buy my book - you know you want to!
This morning at first light Consuela (my Tejana maid) and I packed the teepee and all my belongings onto a travois and left Schiehallion for good. Of late there have been too many tourists plodding past, and the skitter of trekking poles on the stones has woken me up at all times of the day and night. It was not without a sigh and a tear that I took my last look at the limpid waters of Loch Rannoch, and set off down the slope on my piebald pony. Consuela grumbled as usual, this time about having to walk - there's always something with that young woman!
We are now ensconced (I love that word.. it means placed like a flambeau securely in its housing in the wall of some keep or castle) in a secluded spot in the Sidlaws, with a wonderful view over Strathmore. This morning - a cool and sunlit one - I am lying here, typing this bog (isn't that what they call it? Oh!) on an ancient laptop, ancient in the sense that I am having to use a wi-fi dongle... lying here, as I was saying, on my chaise longue, my legs wrapped in my comfy blanket decorated with the Cheyenne interpretation of the Battle of the Little Big Horn, listening to the subtle tick-tock of my long-case clock, and gazing out over the Strath. Ah, there goes a vast herd of North American Bison. They'll cause a bit of havoc on the Forfar road, and no mistake!
We are still unpacking all the boxes (well, Consuela is), but at least I have my chaise, my clock, my comfy blanket, and of course my signed Daguerrotype of Mikhail Bakunin which is now hanging on the teepee wall.
Consuela, currently reading this rudely over my shoulder, is muttering that someone with all this personal clutter who employs a "general dogsbody" (her words) ought not to be allowed to idolise the Father of Anarchism. Really! Next time I have a vacancy to fill I shall simply advertise for a maid and not, as I foolishly did, for a "maid/philosopher".