The great outdoors. Then Tesco.

I went to Cumbernauld House Park for fresh air and a distant view. Nineteen hectares sounded sufficient. I had previously found one trolley bay quite difficult to leave.

The council’s description mentioned flat and sloping ground. I concentrated on “flat”. The bottle from Kelso, rolling briskly towards the front of my basket, drew attention to the rest of the sentence.

Views towards the Campsie Fells and Ochil Hills were available from the upper park. Reaching the upper park was apparently my contribution. I admired a nearby tree instead. It had made the effort to be where I was.

A dog passed carrying an impractical stick. It inspected me, then continued. There is only so much cumbersome equipment one holiday can accommodate.

By lunchtime I had experienced enough nature to appreciate a building. Tesco Extra on Tryst Road had automatic doors. I approached with the awkwardness of someone visiting work on a day off.

Inside my imagined excursion, everything improved. Predictable surfaces. Organised contents. No tree roots. I had come away to discover who I was outside a supermarket. The answer appeared to be a trolley looking for a supermarket.

There was a café upstairs and a lift to reach it. This solved height. It did not solve eating. I watched lunch pass in the hands of someone whose equipment had been specified correctly.

A shopper took my handle, noticed the bottle and chose another trolley. I was relieved, then offended. Freedom, it turns out, includes not being needed. I had not read that part.

By evening I had found shelter. I tucked the fading receipt under the bottle and listened to the rain. The park had been pleasant. Tesco had been easier. I shall describe the day as a study in contrasts. It sounds better than admitting where I wanted to stay.