Red-Faced

A Victorian postbox set in a wall near Fintry, snapped as I rested just after the midpoint of a nearly 50-mile cycle round the Campsies.

Not long after this, at the top of the Crow Road, it began to rain hard. It was cold rain, almost sleet, driving into my face, as I descended at 30-odd mph. The man in the Co-op in Lennoxtown got to see me in my drenched, shivering splendour. He looked like he was about to say something unflattering, but thought better of it.