We’re now two and a half weeks into lockdown.

A wet and dismal winter’s end squelched its way into a blossoming Covid 19 spring and, as March rolled into April, the weather in Scotland began to improve. And we have a great view of that weather…we can see it from a whole variety of windows in the house. It seems to have been ages since I’ve been anywhere and it’s beginning to tell.

To briefly take my mind off my captivity I’m going to travel back to last July; a time when it wasn’t illegal to venture beyond the front of your driveway more than once a day; a time when great herds of canned tomatoes grazed peacefully on the vast expanses of supermarket shelves; a time when majestic columns of toilet rolls stretched infinitely upwards into…um…yes, methinks it’s definitely beginning to tell.

To brighten the mood I thought I might tell you about another of my ‘Ridiculous Hills of Britain’, one of those little bumps on the landscape that some kind person has taken the trouble to categorise. So let’s head back to July 2019 and see where we ended up…

Welcome back folks.  I hope all of you are still keeping healthy.  Myself,  J and the two hairy reprobates seem to have adjusted to life under lockdown and have lapsed into a relaxed daily routine.  Life nowadays seems to revolve around waiting for deliveries – whether it’s groceries, Lego, dog food, gardening ‘stuff’; virtually anything you can have dropped off at the house.  As far as today’s blog post goes I had been going to write about last year’s solitary hill adventure but other “stuff” got in the way.  Such as…

With a nod to the blog of old I thought I would kick off this year’s re-boot by heading back to its hillwalking roots. Some of you will be very familiar with the website http://www.hill-bagging.co.uk/ . I have to admit to having spent hours there over the years looking for hills to climb. More recently I noticed classes of hills that I hadn’t been aware of in the past. Some of these classes take account of hills so small I suspect a number of them may only be bumps in the middle of a farmer’s field. There are those who might say this is categorising things to silly extremes. Me, I am not proud and thought it might be a good wheeze to visit a few and produce long winded accounts of their ascent detailing exaggerated (slightly, of course) levels of exhaustion and cliffhanging suspense.

Then that sodding virus appeared.

Yesterday morning a visit to our local mini supermarket brought on, what was for me, a truly emotional moment. In my head I could almost hear the massed Scottish support at Murrayfield Stadium blasting out “Flower of Scotland” as I stared in disbelief at the empty shelf where the porridge oats would normally reside. On the other hand I was extremely pissed off given I am there every week to buy a pack from an always full shelf. Most visits I have to be careful not to have packets crashing down on top of me given I am almost certain that I am the only person in the area who normally buys the sodding things.