The wind rattles the bothy door and pushes hopefully against the windows, the frames flex under the pressure of the gale but I know they’ll hold and relax with my tea. There’s nothing quite like a cup of tea in a bothy, the taste is transformed into some kind of heavenly nectar. Bearnais bothy is a long walk from anywhere, in places the path from Achintee is difficult to follow as it winds its way in an odd diagonal before it crosses the high ridge to descend into the broad silent glen. I savour a mouthful of the hot tea, rubbing my aching legs, and then, glancing down through the stem rising from the dark liquid I notice something floating on the surface, it’s a mouse turd.
I sit for a moment, staring at this unwanted visitor to my beverage, hoping it will magically transform into something a little more welcome, a seed perhaps, a fragment of biscuit but no, it stares back at me and is, unmistakeably, mouse crap. I fish it out and I’m then faced with a dilemma, what to do with the tea. I was enjoying it a moment ago, positively revelling the taste, but now it appears slightly less appetising. Option one is to throw the tea away and start again, option two is to man up and finish the tea and pretend nothing has happened, after all it will taste just as good as it did before.
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