Blackmoorfoot in February is a serious proposition and the notebook reads accordingly. Left boot, brown, well worn, one lace missing, on the reservoir bank by the conduit gate. Grey, with the wind coming straight off the water, which at Blackmoorfoot means it goes through you rather than round you.
Two photographs and neither came out. That happened a lot in them years and I've never been bitter about it. The book also records that flask conditions were only fair — the milk were on the turn. I'll have said summat to Our Linda about that when I got in, though knowing me I'll have said it gently, and knowing her she'll have pointed out I packed the flask myself. The book doesn't record the conversation. Probably for the best.
The last line of the entry is 'noted it and left it be', which is the job in five words. Blackmoorfoot has been good to me over the years and this were a solid, unremarkable example of it.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.