‘It’s outside work, isn’t it,’ said Tam, by way of explanation.

‘So?’ I asked.

‘English people don’t like working outside, do they?’

‘Well, I’ve been out in it all day,’ I said. ‘And I’m English.’

Tam looked at me. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘But you’ve been with us, haven’t you?’

I said, ‘You shouldn’t drop litter, you know.’

‘Why not?’ said Tam.

‘Well,’ I replied. ‘You know. It looks bad, doesn’t it? Spoils the countryside and everything.’

‘That’s a load of shite and you know it,’ he said.

‘No it isn’t,’ I said. ‘You can’t just go chucking rubbish all over the place.’

‘You can if you want,’ said Tam. ‘All this stuff about litter is just English pathetic . . .’ He trailed off, and then started again. ‘This is Scotland. You’re in Scotland and these mountains have been here millions of years. It doesn’t make any difference, a few fag packets for fuck sake. That’s just English fucking pathetic shite.’

‘He’s right,’ said Richie.

‘Yeah . . . I suppose so,’ I said.

I couldn’t see any mountains.