He was tired of doing his accounts. He was more than tired: he was utterly fed-up and bored. He hated accounts; he hated accounting. Every year he promised himself that he'd complete his tax return by mid-April, instead of leaving it until the very last minute before the Inland Revenue start getting heavy by imposing fines and charging interest. Sure enough, every year, by mid-January he was in a panic, desperately searching for all his invoices and receipts. He cursed his filing system: crumpled bits of paper stuffed into envelopes, old wallets, books, diaries and drawers. Thank God for computers and Excel! He always dreaded tax return day. It's not that he resented having to calculate and pay his tax - although that was part of it - it was that he hated the thought of rooting about for all the bits of paper. Especially on a day like this: a day that was better suited to walking in the Highlands.