There and Back Again

The consequence of waking up after a Saturday night in Campbeltown is that

1. you have a hangover
2. you have been told that breakfast is strictly served between 8am and 9:30am
3. It is 9:20am

Quick dress and down for brekkies. The disadvantage of coming late to a meal at the White Hart is that the clean cutlery and plates have all been taken. Fawlty Towers was run better. One of the breakfasters asked for a pint of Tennants to go with his breakfast. Yes it is that classy a place. The Scottish breakfast was darned good though - tattie scone, beans, sausage and egg with black pudding - I passed on the bacon as I was wearing my Israeli Air Force T shirt. Tea and some orange juice (had to ask for a glass - I will see if we have one - what is it with glass and campbeltown do they not buy enough of them or are they all destroyed in the nightly violence?).

I went back to pick up my stuff and looked out of the window to see what I took to be a local mountain biker heading down the road - gosh I thought perhaps things are not as bad as they seem - someone out exercising. Then he went straight over a junction without looking and I realised he was on a bike because he was probably too drunk to drive or had lost his licence. Yes Campbeltown was the pits and I had wasted my time coming here... after all that travelling...

However...

Having spent a night in Campbeltown the fairy magic works and you suddenly start seeing everything as fantastic. Blame it on the hangover but Campbeltown is like an architectural demonstrator. There is a fabby library, there is an art deco cinema to die for, even new houses have arches to courtyards or quite nifty windows, 1902 sandstone tenements in perfect condition, there is a fantastic swimming pool (sorry it is an aqua something or other fancy name), great harbour, huge number of ornate churches, modern housing that makes you look twice and old houses that are covetable and look like they have been transported from the nice parts of Edinburgh.

I intended wandering down to the cinema and then heading off for a swim but I spent a good couple of hours just wandering around taking photographs of things I really liked. The sun was out and Campbeltown looked great - there were still some particularly dodgy characters lying around on park benches.

You don't need to be Doctor Who to time travel - look through the windows of the Campbeltown shops and it is jaw dropping. I was in Buchanan Galleries on Saturday with its mix of same and samer and I am now looking at clothes that my mother bought when I was 2. There is obviously a complete lack of contraception which is not good with the abundance of alcohol as one shop seems to sell nothing but baby romper suits (from the 60's obviously). Time warps are not all bad and on reflection Campbeltown was a characterful place that deserves more than it got (it even got bombed during the war by one of its ex pupils who joined the Luftwaffe and then strafed the place) - it stands geographically and touristically in the shadow of Arran.

It is a long way to go to visit but to be honest the journey is the reward too - but the joy of finding interesting architecture and a town that is not trying to be a version of Buchanan Galleries is a town that we should be building on today. It would be great to see marketing resources and professionals work on Campbeltown to transform it (but then perhaps pool cue fights make it more memorable after all)

So alive with the joys of Summer I drove towards Macrihanish and its famed beach. On the way was a fabulous cemetery ('Scotland the Best' graveyards section highlighted it) with fabulous views across to Jura and to a ghastly wind farm. Macrihanish is famed for its beach, its golf course which borders the beach (large bunker), and its MOD airbase where NATO ploughed tens of millions of pounds to have secret prototype aircraft land on its 3 kilometre runway. Oh and there was the little matter of a Chinook helicopter which crashed in poor weather over the Mull of Kintyre to the south in the hills - where the MOD blamed the pilots, everyone sensible blamed the software which had known problems and everyone insensible blamed UFO's as Macrihanish is the UK's Area 51. The MOD has gone but thankfully the beach is still there so it was clothes off and into the surf to find surfers there all protected from the icy waters with wet suits. The sea was glorious and the views across to Islay and Jura stunning.

No the issue was how to get home - it was either going to be the long long drive up Kintyre and onward to Inverary or do a jump to Arran. It was all going to be in the hands of the Sunday ferry so I raced up admiring the views of the islands and strange rocks at Mausdale to the Arran Ferry. There were a few people waiting and in the distance I could see the ferry coming over. There were no cars so there was the risk that this was just a passenger ferry but the weather was still fine and a microlight flew over us. Fortunately another car turned up so either she didn't know any better either and we would play tag on the way to Inverary - or it was, as it turned out, to be a huge car ferry.

Landing at Arran the first ting you see is the castle from Tintin and the Black Island - Herge wrote/drew the story after visiting Arran. The next ting is the Isle of Arran distillery so it was a quick visit to the shop for a bnottle of the good stuff and Isle of Arran icecream. Arran is heavily branded - there is Arran Whisky, Arran Cheese, Arran Beer (which sadly had just gone into administration), Arran Ice-cream from the Arran Creamery and Arran Aromatics. A tiny island with marketing nounce, or perhaps they need to let people know after a bottle of Isle of Arran malt where they are.

The mountains are amazing - like the highlands but smaller - and there is mist too lying in the glens. It is described as Scotland in miniature (another marketing plug) although it must have most of Scotlands alien Rhododenrons which colour Brodick (and it needs colour) and its castle.

Holy Island looks another interesting clamber - and with its Buddhist monastery there is no alcohol to be taken on the island.

Romped around the standing stones and over the challenging stoney road (just as well I had a 4 wheel drive TT) to reach the fish and chip shop at the ferry station, although it said there was no fish due to demand - although I demanded and they gave me fish and chips.

The ferry was mobbed mainly with people ordering large quantities of drink and i sat in the sober corner with anyone else who was driving reading the Observer and taking a shot of drunken soldiers when they handed their camera phone over and demanded some photographs - which was challenging when all the soldiers and the ferry were swaying.

A long drive back fuelled with more expensive premium unleaded which makes the TT sound really good - and it was back home for a rest.