After the recent scarcity of human civilisation, we rejoined the A9 for a bit today, over two bridges, allowing another disturbing glimpse into kerbside rubbish and a realisation of how far the zombies have reached. This is a stark reminder of how badly I would come off in a zombie uprising. But let’s back up a bit first…..

We started the morning with Scottish porridge. This is a wonder to behold, something you carve into rather than dip into with a spoon.

This was followed by a Scottish breakfast, which actually induces meat sweats (see day 6 detail but without worrying sausages and with a poached egg). This is a fantastic start to the 20 mile/32km walk today.

As soon as we joined the A9 near the Cromarty firth the kerbside rubbish appeared. The empty vapes and plastic bottles, sadly, were expected. The gloves, less so. Wouldn’t you remember wearing one of those? They appear every 100m or so like way markers pointing out the  correct direction:

I wonder if ///what.three.words has kept the whole catalogue of glove related words for the A9 alone so that if you need to call the emergency services they will know exactly where you are:

“Help, I’ve been sideswiped by a caravan, I think I’ve broken my arm, I’m at ///dishwasher.glove.orange”

Or ///grey.glove.camouflaged

When you see a pair of one you’ve seen before it’s like the most surreal game of SNAP:

The multiple bits of pipe lagging? WAY easier to explain: that’s clearly been left behind by someone training for, or engaging in, combat against the zombie uprising.

How do I know this? I’ve been on the same training course, near Worcester in 2012. We were given riot shields and taught the Roman “testudo formation” or tortoise arrangement where we could move as a group protected by our shields. We were given pipe lagging as a weapon (to be used on the legs only) on zombies who would be attacking us. Armed with knowledge and protective equipment we ventured out into the desolate buildings to check for zombies. We ran around rooms, in an anti-clockwise and clockwise direction shouting “clear” like professional American FBI agents until…… the zombies appeared, as if from nowhere. We fought them off as best we could, but there were too many and we had to retreat, all formations lost in a panic. As the white ford transit van of safety veered off with most of us in the back, I was left behind, kidnapped by the zombies, fighting for my freedom, but there was no escape.

So there I sat, in a white Renault for 20 mins next to a surprisingly chatty zombie, while my comrades learned how to retrieve the slowest member of their team.

So, today, I reminded Mark of this training and the consequences of seeing pipe lagging by the road and my chances of survival in the case of a zombie uprising. His response?

You can’t have a zombie uprising, it implies they are already with us, it has to be a zombie apocalypse.

I challenged him on this, asking him to think back and tell me that in 35 years, there hasn’t been at least one person at an event, with whom he’s been trapped in a corner, with a dwindling glass of warm white wine in his hand, thinking, I might as well be talking with the living dead…..

No such danger in Inverness though, everything is calm. Although the weather has lived up to Bill Bryson’s description of Britain: “Sometimes it rained, but mostly it was just dull, a land without shadows. It was like living inside Tupperware”. The Scots would say might. There have been subtle breaks in the clouds though.

The barley fields have kept us connected to something essential in life: the ground and the seasons. The remote, hostile granite has given way to forests above our heads.

Tonight we have a mixer tap in our bathroom and we plan to have food at any number of local restaurants that are inspired by a cuisine outside of the UK. It’s all good at the end of our first stage, 133 miles/214km, with a day of rest ahead of us.

Stay safe everyone.

Distance – 32km