Splendid isolation

T SEEMED AT THAT MOMENT that the old Roberts radio my mother had always liked so much was going to be kicked across the floor. It was the sweet whistle of a teal that finally did it. “I can’t take it any more,” she shouted, “I can’t take any more of this Radio 4 shit about birdsong and the wonder of being locked down in the countryside.” I had been in Dumfriesshire at that point for just eight weeks but my mother had left