ON ARRIVING at a small stone house, you will question how anyone ever lived here. On building the fire, you will wonder why they ever did. Perhaps a stranger will stumble in as the sun begins to set and you will greet each other, commenting how you haven’t seen another soul since maybe the day before yesterday. The two of you will rummage in your bags, one will pass a bottle of whisky, the other will present a pack of cards. You will talk, perhaps you will laugh and share stories. Maybe your new companion came in from the north tonight whilst you approached from the west, both aiming for this small, stone house in the middle of nowhere.
In the morning, you will clear the ashes and sweep the floor, carrying out the empty bottles and tealight shells in your bag. You will both sign your name in a logbook, and never see each other again. You will just be someone they met once in a bothy in the middle of nowhere.
AN IMPULSE ARISES
In June 2022 I ended my lease, packed my belongings into a Manchester storage unit and set off to wander for a while with an aim
