FROM my elevated eyrie by the summit of Morven in Aberdeenshire the world around me lay in two distinct halves – one in glorious light and the other in abject blackness. In front of me lay a gently rolling landscape, a great patchwork quilt of green and golden fields, dotted with patches of woodland, the earth tones intensified by the bright autumn sunshine. It looked for all the world like a Scottish version of Middle Earth – even the tiny village below me, Logie Coldstone, had a Tolkienesque ring to it. To further the analogy, the land behind me, a…