We were only passing through Dunkeld on the way to Edinburgh, but here we found the kind of perfect Scottish town I had hoped to see and missed in the Highlands. Surrounded by forest, a roaring river passing by with an ancient stone bridge to the main street. Skirted by a steep hill covered in flowers and trees with a mysterious stately house at its peak, nestled into the vegetation. Wee cafes bursting with fresh produce and communal vegetable gardens. The sun passed behind cloud for photos and we were in too much of a rush to the train station to linger, but it was such a lovely place to pass through.

On the train i sat opposite a little Californian boy who was drawing a very imaginative monochromatic picture, “I’m not going to add any colour”. While his grandmother napped we designed a kids dream house together. It involved hidden places under the stairs for the kid’s money, a moat, a robot arm and a fireman’s pole.

Then to Andrew’s house to begin the countdown to Dylan’s 30th birthday and the best night’s sleep in ages.

I‘d grown accustomed to life without my shadow. A world rendered flat by overcast skies. Clouds so dense that it was easy to forget that skies were blue not grey with charcoal clouds.

Then I looked out the window and it was brilliant cobalt. At 3 in the afternoon the day had begun and it stayed that way until 8 when it began to glow golden around the edges, shadows purple and long. I was riding past green fields then, able to appreciate their lushness for the first time. Calves were, skipping, well as close as a cow can skip, a kind of four legged rocking lurch. They were enjoying the sun too. I grinned at them, and they stopped their play, their mothers stopping their munching and starred at me, eyes little pinpricks.

I felt that fullness in that chest, and almost bursting with joy. Perhaps I was finally falling in love with the highlands, as I had been warned I would. But maybe it was all the better for not being love at first sight, the man who asked me if I needed a hot drink as I rode by, the tree suddenly bursting with swallows like a mad Disney fairytale, the silhouettes of mountains, layer upon layer, lying like sleeping beasts.

I wound my way home to our ramshackle bus, and our surrogate granny who always fussed about us being out on the roads in the cold. Warm fire, warm heart.

The time has come for a wee break. Since we touched down in Hawaii in February I have documented everyday on this blog, capturing the exciting moments and reflecting in the quieter ones. It’s wonderful to be able to look back at all these small moments like pearls on a string, that help me remember the places and people we have met. It’s exhausting though, the pressure of always doing something to document, no one wants to read about me sitting watching a movie or sleeping in, and that’s what I need a bit of to recharge the batteries.

So we’re staying in Ardross for a week, in a tired old retrofitted bus. The people here are great, there are sculptures all over the garden, Susan’s mother is a knitting sculptor and she has shown us a knitted car complete with knitted engine the dying Scotsman. John’s mun is staying in the Steading and she is a riot, she does a great lighthearted grumble about her sons telling her she is visiting without asking and having to cancel all her newspaper subscriptions and doctor’s appointments. Tonight we were invited to play dice games with the family that involved home drawn board and their own made up rules. It’s nice to have a routine for a while.

No fish, but big hills. I had to swallow pride and walk up my first paved road of the trip, even walking I felt almost horizontal. Paul, the gardener’s, eyes would have twinkled to know he was proven right.

Then there was that moment where I thought “oh I’d like a warm bed and shower now”, I think Dylan may have felt it too. We were back at badcall bay and the midges came early, biting dylan on every bit of bare skin. “oh, they don’t tell you ’bout the midges in the tourist brochures”, an Irishman in a pub had gleefully told us back in Sussex, now we knew what he was on about. There was a reason the fish were in a feeding frenzy.

For me it was the ticks, tonight we’ve tweezered the third out of my poor delicious skin. When I mentioned there were ticks, the builders cried “oh don’t get bitten you’ll get Lyme disease”, Dylan assures me builders think in worse case scenarios.

It’s beautiful here, but I have to admit to myself that it would be all the more scenic with a bed to ride home too. Perhaps we’ll save the camping for France. Oh well every adventure has to have its bumps, let’s see how we feel in the morning.

Actually it was a beautiful sunny day again, aside from the bugs I really shouldn’t be complaining. I’m slightly concerned about how much joy I get from watching livestock munching grass in a field, perhaps too much time with my own company!