TO cheer you up I thought I’d tell you about my close encounter – with an otter.

The incident occurred in Scotland, the country where many of you live. I’m not telling you where about in Scotland. Once the lockdown is over, you’ll just beat a path to my door bearing gifts.

Suffice to say, it’s quite nice but, still, I’d had a trying day. I never seem able to find any peace. If I moved to a remote part of Antarctica I’d barely be there five minutes before somebody turned up with a boom box and a noisy ice-slicing drill.

So, unable to make Antarctica in the lockdown, I hied myself to the secret beach. Before you start greetin’ to the corona polis, it’s within walking distance or a very short drive from the hoose. A hidden entrance through brambles takes you down a steep, narrow path to the mostly rocky shore.

Distressingly, even here, I heard the dreaded whining, and spotted nearby the telltale orange helmet of an operative protecting their own ears from a machine’s racket but damning yours, so I scrambled further down the coast instead of lying down on my favourite rock, where I’m wont to stare at the waves with a beatific or glaikit expression on ma coupon.

Soon, I found another fantastic rock, flat and gently sloping, and there lay doon ma troubled heid and began slowly to feel again that life was sweet.

It was a decent day, quite sunny, warm but not too hot; little bit of breeze, which I love as I’m a creature of the wind, ken? Well, I suffer from wind.

There was no one else around. Then I detected movement. The rock had its back, as it were, to the shore in one direction, so this beastie hadn’t clocked me as it picked its way along the rocky shore. I think, too, that I was downwind, so it didn’t get any scent.

I was delighted to see it was an otter, so close, maybe 10 to 15 yards away. He or she (not sure if it was cross-gender) stopped and clocked me. I stayed perfectly still. The beastie was fine. Probably just thought: “Beardie bloke lying on a rock.”

It looked away. It looked back. Then off it ambled, seemingly content with the situation. It rounded rocks a few feet from me, so that I couldn’t see it any more.

So I hied myself over and stood up to see. I don’t think it could have seen me arriving but just clocked me once I was perfectly still and so, once more, it wasn’t bothered.

A rivulet ran down from nearby woods and the beastie had a peerie swim in this. Looked at me a few times. I made sure not to stare back like an eejit. Even turned my face away one or twice, which usually helps in wild encounters.

It tells them you’re not stalking them like a tiger or something similarly evil.

The beast didn’t bolt at these small movements but did after I moved my position to get a better look when it went behind a rock. Feeling feart now of Mighty Rab, it skedaddled as fast as it could, but still quite laboriously, over the rocky shore to the sea.

But I’d been elated by the experience. Encounters like these make you feel connected. They’re a thrill. They remind you that happiness is more easily found in the wild than in the hoose.

Combat fatigue

WHO will protect us? I don’t mean from the virus but from the Chinese or the Russians or the Faroese, or whoever is currently thought to harbour evil intentions of invading our hallowed shores.

Since everything seems to be done with missiles, drones and robots these days, it’s not really clear how much use an army would be in times of war. Well, call me an old-fashioned traditionalist, but one still feels they might have some sort of role to play.

That’s why it’s worrying to read that, according to Ministry of Defence figures released under Freedom of Information rules, a fifth of Britain’s armed forces are unfit for battle.

It’s not quite clear how they’re unfit but, suffice to say, these misfits are deployed in “restricted roles”.

In a further shock development, it was revealed this week that more than 4,000 military personnel have had a sexually transmitted disease in the past two years.

One veteran said he wasn’t surprised, adding: “The military’s idea of sex education is a film from the 1970s about catching syphilis.” I’ve seen that. Poor plot but the special effects were pretty good. And Ken Dodd was excellent.

I hate to say it, but the picture presented of today’s military personnel as syphilitic, wheezing invalids staggering forth to battle is far from a reassuring one.

Five things we learned this week

1 Space billionaire Elon Musk has had to change his baby’s moniker from X AE A-12 to X AE A-xii, as California law prohibits numbers in names. What Wee X will make of this when he’s older is anybody’s guess.

2 Eating a pie for lunch ruins your attention span. Scientists from Ohio State University, US, believe fatty acids from the controversial comestibles, as well as from burgers and other “junk food”, damage mental performance. It still sounds like a decent trade-off.

3 Panama Disease is threatening the world’s bananas. The TR4 virus attacks the fruit’s roots, blocking its supply of water and nutrients. The latest development has increased anger at viruses, with many people believing it’s time something was done about them.

4 Prurient research has revealed that one in four people has a pair of lucky pants. They wear the controversial garments on first dates or for important meetings and sporting occasions. It’s thought the pants influence events through special pheromones.

5 There are 236 leprechauns remaining in Ireland. Leprechaun whisperer Kevin Woods, from Co Louth, told This Morning their numbers had drastically declined. Once, there were millions. Leprechauns make a living mending shoes, but the business suffered with the popularity of trainers.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald.