Today has been a long day and I write these few lines somewhat tired from the experience but still amazed at what each day can bring. Let me recount some of the events that to anyone younger, or joblocked or citystuck might seem trivial meanderings of dotage.

First there was the odd crow. Well living in the countryside crows, rooks, jackdaws, probably even the odd raven, are the commonplace of the trees, fields and roads. They are highly intelligent birds, well organised and totally fearless. Lambing has just about finished here and it is common to see them in every field with the sheep, doubtless the centuries have taught them that where there are live lambs there may well be dead ones too. But carrion is by no means their main staple. They will, seemingly at random, pick any field, descend in their dozens or even hundreds, and spend hours sanitizing it of leatherjackets or any grubs whatsoever.

And they are partial to nice bit of white wheatgerm loaf too. I foolishly threw some slightly mouldy bread on to the top of a low shed at the edge of the garden. Normally I would have ground it into crumb size pieces but I was in a hurry and the pieces were much larger. A few minutes later I happened to be looking in the direction of the shed and saw a sizeable crow descend, survey the distributed chunks of bread and quickly pick up every sizeable piece of bread into its beak until its beak was so full it could hardly see where it was going, and then flapped off up into the trees. The blackbirds, somewhat dischuffed (although the chuff is of course a crow, with red legs, so the word may not be well chosen), then descended, had their usual fight over whose shed roof it was, and took the best part of half an hour to clean up the rest of the bread.

Which made what happened this morning all the more surprising. Driving back from picking up three black suspenders from our local garden centre, coming down a straight lane, I spotted a crow in the road ahead. Normally the routine is that one slows down sufficiently and at the last moment, with a nonchalance generated from many years of avoiding motor vehicles with seconds to spare, the crow will take off in a leisurely flap with a contemptuous look at the offending vehicle as if to say, "there, missed me again, you stupid monster".

Not so this one. I slowed and slowed until finally I had to stop, I think just over the crow. I don't think it was injured before I saw it, and I am pretty certain that I didn't harm it. About to get out of the car to make sure, it strode out from under the car, looked up as if to say, "well, I survived that", walked haughtily over to the ditch at the side of the road and fell in. As a theatrical exit it was timed perfectly for the maximum comic effect. Then I noticed another crow sitting in the hedge, stifling an obvious giggle. Critics!!

Later in the day I went to a ceremony in the local church yard to mark the "launch" of the ancient Pictish symbol cross (The Kettins Stone or Kettins Cross). It is probably twelve or thirteen hundred years old, may be even older. For centuries it was the bridge over the local burn, for so long the back of the stone is visibly worn with the footsteps of all those centuries. On the stone one of the carved panels shows three standing figures with possibly the heads of birds. Perhaps even crows, who knows. The local minister said a few nicely chosen words, then the local councillor, a librarian by trade, who had certainly done his homework. Leaflets were handed out and we all went for a cup of tea. Job done. We have handed it on to the next generation to puzzle over.

The true story of the Picts and Romans is yet to be told. Just don't believe what you are taught in school. Come and look at the Kettins Cross, perhaps even find the Wolfstone up on the hill behind the Church, or one of the many others in the locality, Eassie or Glamis for example, and ask your teacher the simple question, "Who were the Picts?"