This gleeful yomp begins at my own front door – which overlooks fields of horses and opens onto a farm track used by 13th century monks at the nearby Balmerino Abbey.
The best ever walk to the pub begins on a balmy Sunday evening in midsummer and travels through barley fields to a hill overlooking the Tay Bridge to distant Dundee and onward past the village shop and school to the white-washed But and Ben that is home to beer and folk tune.
Before setting off I clear my clutter of garden tools, hosepipe, seedlings and pots – don’t want to stagger over them on my return. Now I crunch across the gravel terrace where where my favourite wild flowers grow – sweet nettle, poppy and quaking grass. Skipping under my honey suckle bower – not forgetting to take a snifter – and down the steps to the picket fence where the tufts of moss very sweetly grow. The rusty old latch on my garden gate has been worn smooth by Jimmy the old boy living here for 60 years before me.
Waving to my neighbour Ulladulla – a 34-year-old chesnut polo pony – I turn right onto a cool green avenue lined with majestic beech trees. Dappled light and shadows give it the feel of hallowed ground.
Now i’m passing through grand white pillars at the estate’s entrance and left onto a quiet country road where pheasants amble and scented phlox grows wild in the hedgerow.
Within a few metres, I’m on a footpath through fields to Gauldry. Walking briskly upward. Rusty barbed wire, cow parsley, bright sunshine, blue skies and suddenly an open vista over the sparkling Tay estuary – Hello Dundee.
I’m back on the road leading into the village, past the man with big ginger beard and death head insignia fixing his motorbike. We natter in the sunshine.
Now the sounds of accordion, bag pipes, chanson and bluegrass are in earshot and I flow with them under the chestnut trees, past a Victorian primary school and through the front door of the boozer. A stool by the bar with a full view of the folk is my finishing post – I cannot wish for more.