Laces tied in a bow. That's the detail that earns this one its place in the memory as well as the book, because you don't often see it. Laces tied together, yes. Knotted, often. Gone altogether, more than you'd think. But a proper bow, done as if the wearer had just fastened it, on a shoe with no wearer anywhere about — the book records it plainly and I remember looking at it a good while.
Right trainer, blue with a white sole, sat upright on the south bank path facing the water. Good condition, can't have been out more than a week by my judgement, and I'd back that judgement — a week of Blackmoorfoot weather leaves marks and this had none to speak of. Blowy but dry, which is about the best March offers up there.
Linda had done egg and cress and put a Penguin in an' all, which the book records, because by 2019 the contents of the bag were a standard part of the entry and rightly so. Flask conditions very good. Four photographs. I'll say what I've said before about Blackmoorfoot: it rarely lets me down, and it's near enough that letting me down wouldn't cost much diesel anyway, which is the sort of arrangement you want with a reservoir.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.