Giants in the Forest Recap 2, Phase 1

The last time I wrote about the first week of my quest to find Giants in the Forest, I left myself lost in the small forest around the Falkland Estate. It was about two in the morning, I had a borrowed touch, was sheltering beneath a tree and hoping that the skittering shadows were not beasts or monsters. I was caught between the social disgrace of being lost in a patch of land some five minutes away from an entire campsite and the genuine terror that some werewolf was going to jump out at me.

I did find something that looked as if the Giants might be nearby: ashes marked the place of a recent campfire and three chairs were lined up, surrounded by old lager cans. I decided the best thing was to sit here and take stock.

I am three days out from Glasgow: I have visited locations that I did not, previous to this trip, know existed. The Bowhill Estate reminded me of the stately homes that I had unwillingly been dragged around by my mother during school holidays, except it had a cool play area that I would have loved, back then. The Peebles Heads were hosted by an outdoor adventure centre. Yellowcraigs gave me a stunning view of the east coast, warm, open and enticing.

None of these, however, provided me with the experience I had expected. I wanted to be swept up by the scale of nature, bang on about its bleakness, majesty and feel a sublime terror.

Instead, I had seen nature adapted for humans, humans living comfortable in a pleasant environment and towns that retained the flavour of an earlier, more restful time. Fortunately, getting lost in the middle of the night was giving me the drama I wanted. I am genuinely scared.

Throughout my journey, I consciously held onto the idea that any magic I might feel when seeing the heads was going to be my imagination. Admittedly, I'd already got into the habit of having a chat with the heads, presuming there was only me on the site. But I played both sides of the conversation. I didn't really think that they had consciousness.

In the dark, I had decided that the entire forest was alive, and not just in the scientifically approved ecological way. That tree over there was giving me the evils. The sway of the plants was malignant. I wish I knew their names. I am experiencing panic.

Even better, I knew I had done this on purpose. I wanted the fear. I wanted to get past my silly rationality and get into some silly horror. I can hear the campsite, and I am worried at looking stupid when I get back. At the same time, I am pondering what sleeping in the forest is going to be like...

Against this, the gentle stroll to Bowhill, the lovely Chinese meal eaten on the riverbank in Peebles, the great hitch north with the former architect...