Northwardly, I continued driving. I visited John O'Groats, some 690 miles from London. I had done well. From the village famous for being the furthest point from Lands End, I'd have expected more. There was a sign. I left.
I then drove to Dunnet Head, the northernmost point on the UK mainland. It's a small peninsula in the northeast of Scotland. It looks like a weird-sticky-out blob on the map. There was a lighthouse to greet you, and Hoy. Stretched before me, green atop blue, the island captivated me. This was my first experience of seeing islands that close. They were the Orkney Islands. It was breathtaking, and then as you turn your head, the view sweeps across the mainland. It's easy tell why this was a strategic military location; you can see every-fucking-thing from here.
Sign in shop window. "Open 8 Days A Week!" I knew Scotland was different, but damn, some crazy shit happens north of the wall.
On my way off 'The Head', there was a not-very-old-old-man on a mobility scooter. Nothing unusual here, except that he was driving it in the middle of the road. Literally (never used lightly), on the central white line. I slowed down to pass him, neither beeped nor stared. Not that that concerned him as he was now shouting at me to "fuck off", and whilst repeatedly sticking his fingers up at me, nearly crashed into oncoming traffic. Good times.
The heather was in full bloom and I was treated to rolling purple hills, swaying in the distance. Combine that with the islands and insta-karma, I'd say that was a rather splendid day.