Back in the box
Heat, noise, traffic, crowds: another grimy August in London. It's been six weeks since I walked out onto Tentsmuir Sands, two weeks since returning to the Smoke and the nine-to-five. Some aspects of readjusting have been tricky, that's all I'll say. Then again it's always good to get back to your own space. After the walk was over we spent a nomadic few weeks around Scotland, splitting our time between Islay, Aviemore, a cousin in Sutherland and parents in Fife. My daughters are city kids, I have to admit - my oldest is three and she asked at least once a day: 'Why is it so quiet?' My other half and I oversaw as she got to grips with sand, seaweed and salt water; tall grass, trees and nettles; rain, sun and wind; and sticks, stones, rock pools and rivers. She was utterly engrossed, but never still. One evening at dusk we walked out to a lighthouse and back, jumping off every boulder along the way. Out at the beach or on little walks through the woods my pockets...