Drenched. Deflated. All words Gus Patterson and Derek McLennan might use to describe themselves at 3pm on December 19, 2013. The rain was lashing down, the field they were in was as muddy as a battlefield, and the 60mph winds were cutting through them.
They had been there for five hours. In the diminishing light, hope had turned to hopelessness. It was time to call it a day. Then, all of a sudden, Patterson was dancing. Bending his knees and moving his arms as if doing a jig.
It is an unlikely image - that of the 49-year-old grooving to a non-existent soundtrack in an isolated field - until you understand why.