I suspect that the contents of this blog thus far haven’t really convinced anyone who doesn’t (or does, for that matter) know me of the rather cool customer that I am. What I got up to this weekend isn’t likely to change this opinion.

You see, I love windmills. Not just the fancy dancy Windy Miller affairs — in fact, those don’t impressa me much if I’m honest — and the ones that feature in wind farms give my boat more buoyancy. Luckily for a wind farm aficionado such as myself, there are plenty nearby. Within an hour of Alloa, there are examples at Braes of Doune, Fintry and … [insert half hearted drum roll] … the pick of the bunch at Black Law near Lanark, which I discovered by accident last weekend on my jaunt to Stobo.

Now, the grandeur of this spectacle has been somewhat lost through the lens of a 2 megapixel iPhone, but the sight of 50 odd massive — absolutely massive — structures all silently rotating at the same speed for as far as you can see is … well … it’s actually pretty sinister.

You can’t get particularly close to the windmills at Doune or Fintry, but the kind people of South Lanarkshire Coucil have forseen that maybe they have a EuroDisney on their hands here and there are arseholes like me who enjoy being slightly spooked by their eco-friendly alien invaders, so they actually provide a car park. And best of all, mine wasn’t the only car there. There was also a man and a woman with a car each and I got the sense I’d interrupted something. Truth be told, I half expected to find Stan Collymore and Phil Mitchell from EastEnders hiding behind a nervous sheep.

But it’s not just me and those lacking a moral compass who appreciate a well placed windmill and in the past, they’ve contributed to my mate, Dave, having a realisation of where he stood when compared to the intelligence of his son.

There’s a red kite nesting thing near the wind farm at Doune and … well … wouldn’t you know it, but the birds keep on flying into the turbines and the local press, who aren’t windmill fans, get all Bill Oddie about this. Dave, sensibly in my opinion, remarked that he’d’ve thought that if a bird doesn’t have the common sense to avoid a big fuck off windmill then maybe it deserves to be splatted.

Seven-year-old Dave Jnr pointed out at this point that the tips of the blades of the windmill can rotate at speeds of 200 mph and didn’t reckon much on the chances of his old man with his big old human brain dodging that gauntlet.

Dave told me this story and half an hour later after digging out equations we’ve had no cause to use for the last twenty years we came to a simple conclusion. Goddammit, but the kid was right.

Kids say the funniest things. About windmills. And red kites. And pi.

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