12th July. Still Normal After Two Days.

Still seem to be fairly 'normal' ie not normal for me. (see previous)

When I say normal I mean foreboding levels are probably reduced to what I imagine is normal for other people, appropriate for what the day is likely to bring.

For instance if you were planning to go to a funeral of a close family member then there would be a sense of grimness about what was to come, but there's no point waking everyday with a feeling akin to this.

Needless to say I'd misconstrued our camping plans and although there is an additional influx of 10,000 souls to the Isle of Lewis we are ensconced on a patch of grass owned by Morag, (That'll be £6 for the night) who is about ninety, with only a few fellow campers.

On waking, I eat muesli then run 2 miles barefoot along a deserted beach of white sand.

Due to the facilities offered at the 'camping ground' amounting only to a tap at the side of Morag's house, I have a poo in the Atlantic then run back again.

At that point there has been no further movement either from our tent or Stuarts