Stefan Durkacz

Time has been short lately. It's only a month until we move to Edinburgh and there's much to sort out, and loose ends to be tied up at work. Little time for getting out of London for walks, but with a run of lovely weather it's hard to miss the swelling heart of summer even in the concrete jungle. A little innovation was needed to reconnect with the wider world, so for the past week I've been out and about when I can with the camera to local green spaces and waste ground to see what I can find, and, armed with a couple of pocket guides, to build up my ID skills. Even in the workaday streets around where I live the diversity has amazed me. Crouch and watch a little piece of weed-covered waste ground for a while and it's akin to your eyes adjusting to the dark. More and more details loom out - another species of wildflower, and another, and another. How many different types of bumble bee is that now? And how many hoverflies? And what's that little creature on...

The thing about Scotland is that even the flat bits are hilly, and the populated bits relatively wild. The fun doesn't begin and end in the the Highlands, and most people even in the central belt have hill days on the doorstep offering solitude and wildness way beyond what can be found in the south east of England. Whether the days are short or the weather bad or the Highlands snowed in or you're worried about your carbon footprint and don't fancy a long drive north, there are always options close to home - sometimes very challenging options in the depths of winter. A series of little ranges are placed like steps across the central belt. Hamish Brown once walked from Abernethy on the Firth of Tay through to the Erskine Bridge on the Clyde, dropping gradually south west over the Ochils, Fintry Hills, Campsie Fells and Kilpatrick Hills. This trip could be extended at both ends - over the Sidlaws from Forfar to Perth in the east, and the Renfrew Heights from Inverclyde to Larg...

The hardest part of course is getting out of London. I knocked off work at lunchtime and headed round to my friend Bryan's flat. We were on the road by 2pm but that's when Friday rush hour starts around here. Two hours later we were finally motoring along the M4 in Berkshire headed for the village of Llanthony in the Welsh Black Mountains. Pints and pub grub awaited us, as well as stars and peace and quiet. A young guy called Russ joined us in the pub; he was over from Reading by himself after his mate bailed out. We found plenty to chat about, not surprising as we were all there for the same reason, although at different life stages - Russ young and without children and making the most of it with his outdoors pursuits and travelling, us early middle-aged types with relatively little time for ourselves but a quickening sense of how much - or little - is left to us. Next morning began with bacon and egg sandwiches and tea at a little hole-in-the-wall-type cafe in the village. Hu...