30

Catherine and I walk down the road at Guisachan in the dark, with a faint moon glimpsed through the foliage. The clock tower at the steading is ghostly in the mirk, like the gothic house in Psycho. It's pitch black under the trees but we have torches and, at the foot of the drive, there are lights, a line of globes glowing faintly. Moths have landed on some of the globes. C identifies a winter moth and a few pale brindled beauties.