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Goat Liver parfait on a Multi-Seed-&-Parmesan tuile with pickled Lingonberry espuma, and Pine Needle mist

Ascream ripped free as lightning tore the night apart — light strobing across the bleak landscape, casting it in harsh shades of black and white.

Michael cowered beneath his wee stone bridge, numb hands clamped across his mouth, ankle-deep in the growling burn. The water rising.

Out there, the blasted moorland of heather and reeds stretched off towards a dark band of jagged pines and the unwelcoming lump of a dirty-big mountain. A storm-whipped expanse of grey water stretched out behind it, bordered by more hills, their tops lost in low cloud and slashing rain. All caught in the lightning’s flash. The image burned onto the backs of his eyes as he trembled and shivered. Staying there long after the glow faded and the thunder roared.

Michael flinched further back into the shadows, teeth chattering, breath misting around his head. His jeans, boots, T-shirt, and black leather jacket, all soaked through, hair plastered to his head. And OK, some of the reviewers said he was far too old to be dressing like that, but just because he wasn’t quite as young as he used to be, it didn’t mean he had to wear slippers and a cardigan.

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