A Dracula moon was rising

Traipsing through Helminthdale town centre is never exactly inspiring. On a miserable cold and drizzly day it's positively dispiriting. While other people may note the meanderings of Winter by the arrival of snowdrops or the passage of wild geese in the night sky we note January's twilight by the digging up of the main road. It matters not the what or why, the tarmac gets unpeeled and the trenches are dug each year.

It is unpleasant, though. Walking through the town centre is rather like exploring the tattered remnants of some cold, damp, grey corpse. Perhaps of some primeval mollusc or some long-forgotten Chelonian.