With Harry Potter’s last book safely delivered and nursing a hangover from a night with Ian and Jenny, it was time to head north and west to see Ali’s chum Ben and his dad’s band ‘Deep Blue’ at the Clachaig Inn, Glencoe. Avoiding the disaster that is the Forth Road bridge at weekends, we routed Dalkeith (admiring the Harrow Inn exterior of sandstone, cream and green), via Stirling, lunching at Tyndrum at the fabby Good Food Place for haddock and beer. We also spotted a hotel at Tyndrum in identical colours to the Harrow Inn at Dalkeith (perhaps they shared the same decorator/architect).
Through Rannoch Moor to the Rannoch Rowan, a heritage tree and alone by the side of the road, further on there was evidence of mass deforestation with a van full of folk picking up dead wood. Glencoe has a viewpoint now, last time we visited it was under construction and causing large delays – now you can park and stop to see the three rivers and the waterfall pool amid the busloads of german tourists. Glencoe village has a folk museum with a busty attendant in a low cut dress – Kim saw lots of the exhibits and I seemed to have missed lots but now have her chest burned on my retina. Those I saw included pictures of Hagrid’s Hut, as the Harry Potter movies were filmed around Glencoe, a Kidnapped and Massacre setting with mannequins in olde dress rivalled with the fertility goddess (no not the attendant) and the tales of slate mining where Ballachulish roofed the world.
Booked into the Scorrybreac Guest House where we had the last room (a twin with an ensuite bathroom which was outside the bedroom and down the hall), but it came with a friendly and helpful chap who gave us advice on eating and walking to the pub. Read more of Harry Potter (more deaths…) then we wandered for 45 minutes down to the Clachaig for dinner and lots of real ale. We were tabled in between table 10 and table 12 together with another table, so in Harry Potter mode it was possibly Table 11 and 3/4. It certainly confused the waitresses. Meal over a quick dander to work up an appetite for pints we saw the Hard Rock Challenge 2007 (since last time were at the Clachaig it was a gay stag party I had to take a second look at the name).
It was standing room only in the Boots Bar with Deep Blue tuning up (being a lover of contemporary music I tend to prefer that bit to the actual performance). So it was huddling round a barrel with regular trips to the toilet and bar, ogling the glaswegian slappers in mini-kilts, and amazed at how many dogs there were in the bar (hidden under chairs everywhere and on knees). Deep Blue did another tremendous performance – warming up the bar and dragging a, probably planted, woman up who turned out to be a wonderful singer. In any case the audience loved it, with Ben on lead guitar bashing out Gun’s and Roses and older favourites. We then had to stagger back after working my way through the entire wide range of real ales and back again, in pitch dark with a head torch. I spent the night doing bladder emptying trips to the ensuite bathroom (down the corridor if you recall) naked.
Breakfast time in Guest houses is always a case of working out who is gay and who is having an affair over the creamy porridge. I didn’t finish my porridge and the cheery chap was not taking it away – you’re not getting your main course till you finish your porridge sort of stance. With yet another hangover the plan was to head south via the picturesque road to Oban. Kim had a friend on the Isle of Seil (or Seil Island depending on who you talk to) so we decided to take the road optimistically labelled ‘Bridge over the Atlantic’ after Knipoch – all road signs are now being dual signed in Gaelic for no good reason and this causes road delays and also a diversion of funding from the awful pot holed highland roads to brand new road signs.
The Bridge, designed by Thomas Telford, is a high arched bridge to let larger boats through the narrow tidal channel (hence the Atlantic) filled with coach parties queueing up for the tiny village gift shop.
Over the bridge is the white ‘Tigh an Truish’ Inn or House of the Trousers named when the kilt was forbidden during the Jacobite rebellion (kilted soldiers changed into trews before hitting the bright lights of the mainland and before returning home changed back into their kilts).
Met a couple at a viewpoint who had met a photographer who eschewed the landscape for close ups of the water where he was going to spend all day until the lighting and water was perfect. Me, I just snapped and headed straight to the Oyster Bar where the taster tray awaited. Corryvreckan and Old Tosser disappeared too quickly followed by some others with oysters and a crab pasty. Kim enquired about her friend Janet, and we were then greeted by Ali’s school guidance teacher who recognised her voice. We were also told where her friend was (at the Willowburn Hotel on the way off the island).
Ellenabeich is also home to the somewhat incredible Highland Arts Exhibition – the brainchild of C J Taylor (poet, artist, entrepreneur) with an exhibition of his art and listings of his poems which read like McGonaggall on Mescaline. His paintings look drug induced too – which is not necessarily a bad thing. The serendipitous feel of browsing around a shop that has a model of a stegosaurus above a gently fairy on a rock next to a jewellery holder wearing suspenders – is often too much for the mind to grasp, and this is conjoined by staff wandering around offering free coffee, tablet, shortbread and everything to actually make ‘Welcome Host’ seem a real term. Browsing through the purple sheepskins and the badger fountain it was just too difficult to resist buying something – so I ended up with a book of poetry and shortbread to munch if we got stranded on the Bridge over the Atlantic by grounding the TT. In fact I would be tempted to say that a visit to Seil would be a worthwhile diversion JUST to see this place – unlike the John O’Groats Shop O’Tack which is just awful – this has a ’so bizarre, it is so good’ feel to it – and the friendliness doesn’t go amiss either and the scottish music and tartan carpets, tartan curtains, tartan products and tartan trews lends a Lynchian feel to the whole thing. It even has a stuffed seal with a friendly welcoming smile and a free car park with friendly ‘Please do not park here coaches, park here thank you’ signs.
We finally popped into Kim’s friend and she wasn’t there, but her parents were who we meet last at Kim’s father’s funeral. So back over the Atlantic and southward to the stone circle mecca of Kilmartin. Stone circling has really been taken seriously finally by the tourist industry and there are signs, car parks and a museum (funded apparently by a chap who bared all on a moist evening and was paid per midge bite).
Templewood and the Great X are magnificent and the whole area has a stench of magic in the air – very peaceful and flat (being a valley) with ancient trees. Further south more stones and the old Scot capital of Dunadd, surrounded by The Great Moss, which necessitated a clamber up to the top of the only hill in the valley and a squint at the carving of a boar on a rock. The views are spectacular over the flat flat plains with mountains in the distance. Our feet were getting fairly tired by now and we popped back into the car for a slow and windy drive up Loch Awe, tried to get accommodation at the Kings House Hotel near Rob Roy’s grave but there was no room at the inn so we headed to The wonderful Lade Inn at Kilmahog for more microbrewery ale and wonderful food. Then the long road home whilst I read Harry Potter by maplight and Kim avoided Muggles and spotted even more hotels in the Harrow Inn colour scheme.
Back to Max the big friendly golden retriever we are dog sitting for a week, with his dog plushies including teddy bear, with chewed ear (back from Bear Hospital) after a contra taunt with Max’s jaw, and banana with a face. Cara has turned extra friendly as jealousy creeps in and Professor Moriarty, our black cat, has left home.
And back to the wonderfully sleazy tale from Coldstream of the 60 something guy who was telling a Portugeuse woman that he was from the Secret Police and sending her emails translated using babelfish telling her that she had to do everything that he said or her family would suffer, and if she left Scotland her train or plane would be under terrorist attack. This escalated into meetings in a Secret Place (Oxenrigg where the hens run free) where she had to perform sexual acts upon him. Only in the Scottish Borders.
And back to the rain and the complete TV series of ‘The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe’ from my childhood with the timeless and wonderful music (English edition only the French one was dreary), great film production, inept pirates, humorous racial stereotyping with a capital R and as far as I can tell sticks fairly close to Defoe’s book, based on the tale of Alexander Selkirk from Largo in Fife. Selkirk liked dancing with cats and goats and was thrown off his ship for being ghastly, rather than the more romantic ship sinking scenario. The Island is off the coast of Chile and is named after the fictional character rather than the chap who actually got stranded there.
And back to find that our cleaning lady Alison had a near death experience. Her neighbour’s house caught fire and no-one was sure if anyone was in, in particular the youngest boy, so Alison in the heat of the moment strode up to the back door (with smoke gushing out everywhere), felt the handle was roasting so used a towel off the washing line to wrap it and tried to open the door. Fortunately it was jammed. The intense 1000 degrees heat inside (no visible flames as there would be little or no oxygen inside now) cracked a double glazed window and Alison stepped back and decided against rescue. If she had opened the door it would have exploded, the fireman explained that she would have been badly burned and blown over the fence from the explosion. The little boy turned out to be out playing after all and no-one was hurt, although the family are now homeless with no accommodation in Kelso (filled by our errant son).
From Fire to Water and the film Evan Almighty, about building an ark, releases in Britain coinciding with most of England being several feet deep in water, flooded power stations in danger of closing down and a clean water crisis with England reflecting scenes of third world aid in the flood waters. Smugly typing this from the top of a 600 foot hill the unseen effect is going to be in inflated insurance premiums after a 3 billion pound payout. Ten percent of new homes built on flood plains in the last 3 years with home owners losing their gamble.
