Yes, after an endless wait for our back-up harddrive this
a.m, it was at last time to leave the capital and surge across the Forth
road bridge, en route for Dougie Gray in Kinghorn.
D. obliged us with a whistlestop tour of the village, and pointed out the barely visible outline of Inchkeith,
(now Quikfit, as in 'You can't fit quicker than a ...). According to our guide the seabirds there are struck by virulent botchilism, so the fact that we had to skip this destination was no ordeal. His sons gave us our first interview, on the subject of Halloween spookiness.
Hope to include some choice soundbites elsewhere.
After a visit to the portaloo, and a moment of sheer awe at the amount of dogshit covering Kinghorn's roads, we set off deeper into Fife, taking in Methil and the ghost town West Wemyss on the way to Pittenweem, where I'm typing in this.
Jean (our hostess) is an old friend of my mum's, they tried to emigrate to Canada together in their youth, and our families have shared many a Hogmanay.
She and her husband Dick have allowed us to run riot over their phone
lines, and all for the reward of a Web Search for Pittenweem.. Nina was
coerced into driving today, albeit briefly...I think I'm marginally happier
at the wheel, if only because I know where third gear is.