It’s a Saturday morning and the sun is up. In Scotland. Do not underestimate the rarity of this occasion.
We’re out on our mountain bikes in the Pentland Hills, on the outskirts of Edinburgh. You can see the city in the distance, trace the outlines of Arthur’s Seat and Edinburgh Castle with your fingertips and follow the water from South Queensferry right across to Fife more than 50 miles away.
Aside from the views though, we’re very much far from city life. That’s what weekends are for, right? The phones have been stuck on silent, we’ve not got a GoPro between us, we’ve only passed a handful of other human beings in the past couple of hours and the only sounds to be heard are birdsongs, feet on pedals and wheels on dirt – oh, but what’s that? IT’S A SMALL PLASTIC FLOATING SPAWN OF HELL HERE TO RUIN MY LIFE.
Drones. Drones. D-R-O-N-E-S. Drones.