Some years ago now, before I was wearing kilts and visiting X marks, I was gazing out of the kitchen window - which faces south west towards the waters of Poole harbour and the Purbeck hills beyond - though they are not visible from the ground floor due to the trees.

It was dark, and I looked out at the moonlit garden. As I recall I had some Vivaldi playing at the time.

Slowly a great orange airship, brightly lit from inside, rose into view over the apple trees, climbing to attain sufficent altitude to cross the ridge my house stands upon.

Eventually it moved right over the roof of the house and vanished away to the north east.

I have for some time now suspected that the shock of its appearance has in some way affected me - could the whole of X marks the Scot be a symptom of some version of post traumatic stress disorder?

The concept of X marks is so perfectly in accord with my requirements of an ideal forum that the idea of it being a figment of my imagination and all an illusion is only of concern in case I should inadvertantly do anything which would get me cured of it.