The little shopping centre in Milngavie was moist and melancholy as we walked to the obelisk that signifies the start of the West Highland Way. Under a canopy nearby, a busker playing the violin sheltered from the drizzle while the damp grey precinct echoed to his plaintive tune that probably originated in a far off east European country. Jerome (l) is not entirely sure he wants to be seen with us (Chris & Duncan (r)). We gathered around the grey granite stone attempting to take pictures to record the moment as a lady with an outsize backpack lumbered towards us. Her accent revealed her to be American and she asked us whether she could help take a picture.   The favour returned, we collected up our daypacks as we watched our photographer take slow unsteady steps on the start of her journey along the way.   Yesterday we were on the train to Milngavie. Milngavie looks a plain enough place name that shouldn’t hold too many pronunciation potholes, however it isn’t rendered that way a