Perhaps I was not always the best parent.

With the weather going strong, I headed for Deórfald.

A scabby patch of grey rocks sat a jog away from the mess of the dune. None were higher than a dining table. I hopped up the highest. It gave me a decent vantage point over the beach, and the sea of marks carved into the sand.

British beaches are the finest in the world.

Crows filled the sky. Their caws mixed with heavy breathing, and the crunch of snapping stalks. I wondered if the movement was an optical illusion. Something to do with the angle of the sun, or birds disturbing the crops.

Golden sunshine today. Hotter than any period of June before breakfast. I decided to push myself, and head down to Bridd Scrin.

I remember one of Archie’s friends ate the core of apples. Archie said this kid’s parents never told him the center of the fruit was inedible. He would crunch them down, seeds and all. Sometimes he even gnawed on the stem. A nice boy, but I learnt not to have our usual pack of Braeburns around when he visited. Too stressful.

In the city you never think about where your food comes from. You might see the odd tray of sausages at a food market, and understand they originated from a local farm. But there is no real sense of the scale of the produce created across the country.

The road broke down into a series of urban tunnels.

After my last walk I decided to head closer to civilization again. What appeared on my my last walk may remain an unsolved mystery. But other people will provide reassurance. Safety.

Something rasped on the other side of the hedge. A thin whistling breath that rose and fell. The leaves rustled, like something leaned on the foliage.

Back to the countryside this week. But not an open space. I desired somewhere with linearity.

Even in ruins, the building suggested tea urns, sandwiches, and neckties.

This is a book of local walks. I said nothing about sticking to the countryside.

One word unlocks beautiful views close to your house. Elevation. Get higher, and local area shift into something epic.

Time to get the muscles burning.

The hole’s origins must be to do with the canal. A man made well with no one to service. Strange how things like this exist. The perfect swimming pool for the Butter Mouse. He could float in the middle on a rubber ring.

My last walk will stay in the book, but I consider it an interrupted failure. I wanted a proper waterway exploration of the water. Have a sit down. Swirl my fingers around, and get a sense of the temperature.

I decided to sit with the man for a little while. Someone running into freezing water was the last thing I was ready to deal with.

The lake at Hara Pol is the walk furthest from the House In The Woods. After the recent weirdness, I decided to get out of the area. Another local stroll might result in a paranoid search for the bizarre, rather than enjoying the route.