November 1990, 21 years young
Drove up to Edinburgh, then onto John O'Groats via the western coast of Scotland. Beaches with pink sand, long stretches of coast, of road, with no sign of human life for hours upon hours.
On the 6th I was on a particularly solitary stretch, late in the evening, exhausted. Looking for a place to pitch my tent, I spotted what seemed like a single small turret on an outcrop close to the road. Parked close by, felt the history of the place, the spirits in the wind. The broch had been filled with earth, so I was able to climb the side and stand on top.
As it seemed that nobody would mind, spent the night on the broch. Dreamin'
