If ever there was a day for taking your troubles to the top of a mountain and letting them go, this was it. Blowing a hooley at the top of Bennachie this afternoon, absolutely freezing up there, in contrast to the sylvan surroundings down below, all dappled shade and babbling brooks. Dog delirious to be there and found the most cumbersome sticks she could and at least the cold kept us moving along at a brisk rate. England, or at least that part of it which follows the football, in collective shock at the appalling game last night.
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