Rock Cottage, clockwise. 6.45pm.

Slugs toil with thoughtful patience up the wet path. I plant my own heavy progress, step-by-step, over and around them and wonder if this will ever be easy.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 5.15pm.

I was going to tell how a corpse in sailcloth turned out to be an old duvet. But I saw Master Fox flick his white-tipped tail among the bracken.