‘Just didn’t want you to trip over our dead bodies,” my partner quips as we let a group of oldies pass. They chuckle and head on up the steep incline, walking sticks aloft, swishing their waterproof-clad legs as they go. I look down at my mud-soaked Levi’s and then over at my equally bedraggled companion. “Shall we keep going?”
We’re at the start of our adventure on the Isle of Bute, one night at a new off-grid cabin under our belts, now stumbling through spongy woodland in search of a “Bali-style” swing I’ve heard about. Two downpours and the almost-loss of a welly boot later, we find it. It’s 50m from the Balkanailly Second World War decoy site and brilliantly simplistic: a plank of wood
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