A cycle ride to the outer edges of Glasgow finds stones, myths, floating saints, plane twitchers and echoes of one of London’s strangest landmarks.
It took me a moment to notice there was something different about this graveyard.
The final part of searching for the lost Molendinar Burn.
The atmosphere was quiet and wistful as we drifted one late Sunday afternoon through the grand squares and charming side-streets of Salzburg.
The motorist rushing along the A914 through central Fife would have to be especially sharp to notice the small sign for and the anonymous dirt track that leads up to the hamlet of Cults and its hidden church, the Cults Kirk.