Last of the year, on the towpath by the boatyard at Slaithwaite. Right boot, brown, one lace, sole sound. Hard frost, and the notebook says the towpath were 'like iron underfoot', which anybody who's walked the Narrow Canal in a proper December frost will recognise — the mud sets solid and rings when you step on it.
Flask conditions good, 'and needed', says the notebook, and I don't doubt it. The flask notes were nine months old by then and already I couldn't imagine the register without them. Some habits announce themselves and some just move in, and the flask column moved in.
The entry finishes the year with a count: 'Seventeen this year, which is the most so far, though I don't keep count for the sake of it.' I'll let 2015 Keith have that sentence, though transcribing it in 2026 I'll admit the count is in every year-end entry from then on, so make of 'not for the sake of it' what you will. Seventeen shoes, the folder opened, the flask in the record, and a hard frost to close on. As years in the register go, 2015 were one of the important ones, though I didn't know it standing on that towpath. You never do at the time. That's what the notebook's for.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.