enjoy this kind of rugged solitude from a warm, inviting 17th century lodge. warm one's leg by the fire, play a little snooker, enjoy a fine single malt or two, the substantial game meal, maybe another whisky, perhaps, contemplate the mysteries of the universe under a starry sky, then to sleep in the arms of morpheus, to rise in the morning as bringer of death. ♪ stephen and adrian keep calling it the hill, but that ain't no hill i've ever seen. it's a behemoth, an endless range of behemoths, one mountain giving way to a moor, then giving way to another mountain and then another and then more.