Crushers of the Opinions of the Pusillanimous,

Taking in some sunlight and moving the legs around a bit have been the main aims of the last few days. Ever since the policy of only living to the age stipulated in the Belle & Sebastian song was wiped out, I’ve decided to try living for as long as possible.

Yesterday, I escaped along the coastal path from Kirkcaldy to Kinghorn, the house was plagued with zany, misguided adventurers, and more than claustrophobic (this is an accepted if incorrect use of the adjective). The sun was high in the sky, but the walk was not so pleasant. Recent housing developments have increased the apparent height of the cliff and shrouded the path in darkness, particularly as the path is enclosed on one side by an old harbour wall, a harbour that was built in the 1880s but was never used, its appearance gives few clues to its history. I’d like to think that the path could be improved aesthetically, in a vaguely natural manner, in this area, as currently, remaining damp and dingy, the lives of small children are likely to be lost to the muddy puddles.

I always think that New Year’s Day leaves people void of activities, it’s not the same as Christmas, where outlets also closed, but people visit each other throughout the day, or Boxing Day, where people can shop, or New Year’s Day where people live normally until the evening. They resort to nature and as such, the queue to the Lomond Hills was overwhelming. Battalions of people surged up to the summits. East Lomond, the smaller of the two, was the hillock I conquered easily. Geese provided a memorable soundtrack.