Epilogue - The Antoinettes (Other Saints are Available - which is just as well as she’s not even a saint)

With the minibus out of the repair shop and able to go at full throttle Ì made my way back to Edinburgh to pick up the Boys from Bulgaria.

First stop Dunkeld - to meet Izzy and her mum for coffee. I parked up and went to get my ticket. 2 men were scratching their heads trying to work out how the machine worked. It’s the same as the one in Fort William which has everyone scratching their heads - even when they nearly know how it works. They spoke with a strong accent that was somehow familiar. I asked where they were from. The Balkans, they said.

“Oh, I’m just going to pick up my husband and friends who’re coming home from Bulgaria!”

They looked at each other and said - in their heavy accents -

“It’s ok - they will be safe there.”

Good to know.

I asked which country they were from.

Ukraine.

They said they had just arrived, were on their way to do the NC500 and were going home on Monday. Presumably they would NOT be safe there. For the want of anything more appropriate to say Ì just reached out and squeezed their arms and said

“Welcome to Scotland”

At least they won’t get a parking ticket.

After coffee at the Corbenic Community Cafe (https://www.corbeniccamphill.co.uk/corbenic-shop) Ì stopped for tea in Auchterarder. Aunt Nannie’s Prayer chair was going for it’s refit at Sui Upholstery (You can find them on Facebook)

https://www.instagram.com/sui.upholstery?igsh=bmVveXNicmwyazZt

I can’t think of a safer place (other than Bulgaria) to leave this old chair that I inherited from Nannie Grey when I was 15. It’s definitely over 100 years old. James looked at the legs and assessed Victorian. I wondered if I could be aged by my legs. Is there an era called Reptilian?

It had extended the seating capacity of the bus to 17.

Although chances are, the 17th passenger would drop through the bottom.

James gave me a wee tour of his workshop. An old machine with dodgy gears but which cuts through 4 layers of leather and a modern delight that makes his life a lot easier.

Tea drunk, bun devoured and by the time I left, James’s ears were bleeding from the strain of listening to me telling him 40 different stories at the same time. He and the prayer chair had morphed into things that had the stuffing knocked out of them. Whereas it had taken the chair 100 years to look like that, I’d managed to achieve it in 40mins. And he thought his old sewing machine was noisy!

I had just enough breath left to call into see my sister in Dunblane (the beauty of the A9 road in Scotland is that it spans a lot of people), before getting to the airport in time to drive round in circles for 45 minutes to avoid paying for parking but likely spending more on fuel.

The boys were looking a wee bit 2nd hand, but they were no longer my business as I was on my way to Ireland so handed over the keys and left them to it.

The high jinks of the night before appeared to have finished them off. They’d had a great last day out and bagged a lift home from the pub on a horse and cart. Great craic all round and very handy for the dude with the limp

They must have got a bit homesick as they were really keen to get a mention on the local radio station in Lochaber that night. They’d tried to get hold of the show host, Linda, but couldn’t make contact so they asked me to do so on their behalf. And they also asked someone’s dad. Linda had been having a very busy week and was getting pest texts just as she was rushing out to do her programme.

The tunes they requested were….

Big Sam’s Carry Out Ran Out.

OR

Jock Couplands Leg’s in Lybia.

OR

failing either of those well known Lochaber tunes (penned by one of the boys himself) -

The Hens March to the Midden.

Bulgaria is 2 hours ahead of Scotland and by the time Linda played a request for them, there were only 2 of the boys still awake. She’d probably dismissed the first 2 options as unreasonable requests and as she’d opened her show with the Hens Midden she played a very apt Duelling Banjos from the film Deliverance……for the Antoinette Hill Mob.

How I giggled at how neatly she’d put them in their place. The Antoinettes!!!! Penelope would be delighted. An all girl race team for the Wacky Races

I can’t quite bear to tell the boys that when I looked back at my message to Linda, just to check the names of the tunes - (let’s face it, they don’t exactly roll off the tongue) - Ì saw that Predictive text had changed Ant Hill to Antoinette!! Linda was just dutifully repeating my message. Oops. I wondered if I needed to relocate to Bulgaria where it’s reputedly safe!

And as if I’d somehow stolen their strength, almost all of the boys ended up spending a few days in bed with Spooks old box of hankies, making all the Molls desperately wish they’d stayed a few days longer in Bulgaria - which had proven to be more dangerous than the Ukrainians had thought.

I was lucky. Instead of being enclosed in the minibus with the diseased ones, I’d legged it to Glasgow and flown into Dublin early Saturday morning to be met by Meg, holding out a muffin and coffee. She was to become a God Mother. A high honour indeed. I’d told her I’d take the bus, but that would get me into Portlaoise 15 minutes before the ceremony and she wasn’t risking me bursting in the side door of the church, panting and sweating and causing her great embarrassment. So she thought it safer to make the 2 hour round trip to pick me up, which was really a bigger risk as she was an important element, whilst I was just a tourist.

We got to her house with 30 minutes to spare and time to iron her suit. Her Man said not to worry, as Mam had phoned to say it was later than Meg thought and we had an hour to spare. By the time Mam realised she’d made a mistake (totally out of character) we had 10 mins to get to church and rush hour appeared to have struck. Mam had sent Da to get her parents from their home in plenty of time for the later start which was now an earlier start and worst of all he had the candle in his car which the God Father had to light for the Baby. The priest had a christening committee of 2 women whose job it was to make sure that things went smoothly. There were 2 family groups going through the ceremony this day and only one group was sitting politely where they were meant to be and it wasn’t the group Ì was in. I have to say, that as the tourist, I was the epitome of dignified composure. It was Da - who may not have burst through the side door panting and sweating - but who miraculously got Nana and Granda into their seats before the priest’s committee banished him from the region for all time and got the candle into the hands of the Godfather in the nick of time. (And if you know who Auld Nick is in Scottish, you’ll know what a close call that was.) Nana glowed with delight at being back in her church, amongst her family. No amount of stern looks from the committee ladies was going to spoil her sheer pleasure.

Truly Ì was honoured to be with the group on the slightly unruly side of church. As the priest’s committee tried hard to keep the family rounded up, the love flowed from them, for baby Luca and his family - and my daughter cemented her role in their lives. If she is even a tiny bit as good a Godmother as her own Fairy Godmother is to her, Luca will be a very lucky boy.

And I get to have an Irish family too…

N.B. Ì only have one outfit - previously for weddings, funerals and ceilidh’s - now also for Christenings.

Of course, it’s a Fairy Godmother’s job to recognise the saintly qualities in their fairy god children. And Mel Shand (https://www.facebook.com/share/1CxV8Yyoqb/?mibextid=wwXIfr) is the very best on the market. She saw this immediately and sent it back to Meg.

N.B There is no saint called Antoinette other than an imaginary one created to help with self doubt and intrusive thoughts.

Who’ll Help Lill OL’ Me?

We’ve had to set up a PR company to manage the flood of sympathy Spook has had since word got out that his condition had deteriorated so much, he’d had his leg amputated. Messages and phone calls and shocked looks on people’s faces when they met him and thought he had a prosthetic leg already. Fast work, since he’d only broken it on 19th July.

Our dear Amy didn’t realise she had such a wide reach when she posted photos from the wedding we were all at recently….

Despite appearances, he was only bending his leg to change the blood flow to his broken leg. Whilst we all thought people would be admiring our outfits…..

The PR department is happy to report that, despite his wife’s pleas that he couldn’t possibly manage a motorcycle holiday in Bulgaria, he has in fact gone on a motorcycle holiday to Bulgaria. Apparently his Trauma nurse said that as long as there was a swimming pool, chances were that he’d come home in better nick than he went out. The retired Superintendent Physio from the Belford also reassured him that a week away from his worries (a definite glance in my direction) would do him the world of good.

To make amends for my negative attitude, I volunteered to drive him and his wee friends to Edinburgh airport in the middle of the night.

As we drove through Glencoe the minibus got slower and slower. The friends (retired members of the mountain rescue team) thought they had chosen the worst possible old lady driver. At one point Spook checked to see if I’d left the handbrake on. As we got close to Jimmy Saville’s old house they began to panic that I was going to break down outside it. A couple of the lads had a wee bit of contact with Jimmy in his later years and still have a touch of PTSD. They thought they might have to ‘do’ an Ant Hill Mob and pick the minibus up and run with it…

When they start talking about the Ant Hill Mob you know you don’t have to check their teeth to age them. I was hoping they’d liken me to Penelope Pitstop, but no one suggested it

They however, were dead ringers for the Gang.

We got past Jimmy’s but dropped to 30mph as we passed the waterfall. The bus picked up a bit and then was fine going downhill where we had to pullover for the boys to have a stress pee after all the jimmy-induced anxiety. After turning the bus off and back on again, it sorted itself out - for a while. We’d gone into Limp Mode which was annoying as I’ve had Spook in Limp Mode since July.

At the airport he was loaded onto a luggage trolley as he couldn’t keep up with his pals. No man left behind!

That’s him in front, in the pic.

Safely in Bulgaria he has established there is a very adequate heated pool.

And there is a motorbike.

What he does with them remains to be seen.

Meanwhile back home and before Spook left, Billy spent a couple of nights in the Belford to review mobility. He complemented them on their amazing care and attention and then told him he’d be pleased if he never saw them to again.

I complained that he’d do anything the nurses suggested and nothing I suggested and told him I was going to buy a uniform. I told his cousin who works on reception and she immediately wheeched off her NHS top, revealing a bonnie cutty-sark and said go and see him with that on now. Between me facing a tasering for impersonating staff in a hospital and her taking phone calls in her underwear, we were in danger of taking all the attention away from Billy. However she had another shirt through the back so it didn’t stay racy for long. Billy smiled indulgently at my uniform and then we broke him out.

Jane has had a traumatic week and just wanted everything back to normal.

So did Courr.

The fact that Spook has made it to Bulgaria is great credit to his trauma nurse and physio. And fantastic staff at Raigmore - all of whom originate from countries that are not Britain

The Hydrotherapy Pool has made a stunning difference and he can’t recommend it highly enough for peoples aches and pains. Get in there.

Lochaber Environmental Group (https://www.lochaberenviro.org.uk/) for their loan (for a donation) of their electric trike which gave him the independence to get to the Hydrotherapy pool.

Shop mobility who leant him a scooter from the very first day, giving him a semblance of independence. They operate out of a shoogly shack in town and desparately need sponsorship to build a better premises. Don’t think for a minute that they might not be for you. They are for anyone who needs them.

Meanwhile here’s a wee bit of October so far.

For a bit of culture, the MOD (http://www.scotland.org/events/the-royal-national-mod) has come to town! I nipped in to the opening night for The Highland Art Prize at McCallum’s Art House on The Parade. It’s open from 11am to 5pm until the 18th of October. It’s a lovely exhibition in a beautiful space. Well worth a visit.

Painting above - one of my favourites is by Lisa Glaze.

https://mccallumarthouse.co.uk/

Sunshine, Rain, Rainbows, and Love.

I love September. You often feel it coming late in August, with crisp light and cool air.

Hearts were heavy in August when 3 local young lads lost their lives in a car accident and Ì couldn’t find it in myself to write a wee story. In September each of those lads was laid to rest one day after the other. So many lives affected and changed forever, it’s hard to get your head around

The season relentlessly continued with its business of changing to autumn, nevertheless.

The first thing that has to happen is The Ben Nevis hill race. The most iconic hill race in the land on the first Saturday in September. It is Running Girls happy place. This year she completed her 23rd Ben Race and came over the finish line where her precious, tiny grandson, Eddie, had a sign saying “Ì love you”.

Lochaber can take on an exotic look.

As long as the sun keeps shining.

We left Lochaber for the more northern reaches of the west coast as Spook and his broken leg needed driven over the Bealach na Ba to help out at an event in Applecross he’d promised to support - as long as he could do so sitting down. For a wee while the sun stopped shining but there’s always drama up there….

I gripped the wheel and kept going.

Feeling a little tension in the van, Courr had taken shelter lower down…

Once over the top, the sunshine came back, the tension eased, and the dog had a lovely wee holiday.

We stayed in a grand house and even met Our Meg’s uni pal, Kirsten.

Back in Lochaber, Aunti Al needed some help catching goats to get their hooves trimmed. They are very friendly until needing caught…...

Crocs are not the best nor grippiest footwear for keeping hold of them once finally ensnared.

Jane the sausage dog is nervous of anything bigger than her, which is most things. She’s found ways to look bigger and knows how to use social media to her advantage.

She can also use it to pull the wool over the eyes of others….

She instinctively knows what colours suit her best. And she understands the benefits of working as a team. She and Courr will often work together to break down Billy Munro’s dogged determination to not like dogs.

By out-staring him at the breakfast table.

Meanwhile Aunti Al is trying to find ways of out-staring preditors with an unhealthy interest in her hens and quails, without having to sit up all night.

We can only hope this continues to work as Spook and Courr have become used to very nice breakfasts. Trump wasn’t the only one being served quails eggs in September.

And our lovely neighbours who work with Spook at Nevis Range were worried he’d fade away and dropped off some of their delicious foccacia bread to build up his strength.

I’m slightly worried about this extended time at home as he seems to be morphing into my sister’s dog, Scamp.

Scamps mother, Billie, lives in Ireland with Meg and Darragh. They may look different but the familial familiarities are in the amount of love they give and receive.

I have been giving out as much love and support to Spook with his injured wing as I can muster. But without question, I am a woman with limitations and he’s wise to remember this…..

I could easily feature on a well-known set of cards.

His old (young) buddies from Nevis Range got married over on the east, south of Edinburgh and we were chuffed to be invited to go and help celebrate. They knew how to have a party and look after their friends at an amazing venue with fantastic food and generous gallons of drink and a brilliant band - The Jacobites - who knew how to get everyone dancing. All I could see on the dance floor were laughing faces.

Thankyou so much, DJ and Abbie, for a fantastic day (or 3 days for those with the stamina).

Getting to party with your children’s friends who are now your friends, is one of life’s sweet developments.

Amy was on her 3rd wedding of the week. The day before she’d been with our Meg at their pal Siobhan’s wedding on the other side of the country.

Well played, Amy.

The bonus of going somewhere so different for a wedding is getting to explore. I abandoned Spook in our accommodation and went scrambling over rocks to find Seacliff harbour. The smallest in the UK. With Tantallon Castle in the background, it had a Game of Thrones kinda feel to it.

The stags have begun roaring at night as we head into October. Each year they get closer.

Which means they get louder!

I love October.

July Stretched to Breaking Point

July must be almost as long as January, which has around 6 weeks (due to being paid early before Christmas and running out of money by the 4th of January when you don’t get paid until the 31st.)

Firstly the 4th of July saw many things happen - and that’s without any Stateside connection. Our lovely daughter celebrated 6 years with her lovely Darragh on the day they had to say goodbye to their beloved young Labrador, Rua.

Our son headed off to Poland for a Stag party and my husband, father-in-law and sister-in-law legged it to Lake Garda, leaving me to try and keep the goats, horses, hens, quails and cats fed, watered and penned in.

I drew the line at Jane and decided she had to go and holiday in the warmer climes of Argylle. It was a 5hr round trip which I deemed worth the effort, though she was less enamoured herself. She hates a vehicle driving off without her - then she discovers she’s in yet another place where she can call the shots and bonds to her new environment…..

But before that it’s all high drama and emotional blackmail.

Courr was beyond delighted and hatched a plan to joy-ride in Billy’s camper.

“You go go go and I’ll keep an eye on the house in case Billy’s still there!” He barked

This gave him an opportunity to get some reading done whilst being chauffeured around the area. It’s so much more dignified than a regular car. He was avidly reading a book on pest control and at this point he was re-reading the well pawed chapter on Total Eradication of the Sausage Dog. He was fairly confident that this had been achieved.

The animal husbandry didn’t go completely without incident - goats didn’t escape but had a party in the food shed when I hadn’t snibbed the door properly, though thankfully I noticed before I drove away. A couple of hens didn’t survive my care and attention and it was a wee worry that there’d be none left by the time Alison got home. Meanwhile, I ate lots of eggs…

Quails eggs made lovely egg mayonnaise and Scotch eggs…

I mixed it up with the scrambling just for fun.

Billy asked me to deliver eggs to a couple of neighbours. This turned out to be the highlight of my week. I’ve signed a Non Disclosure but suffice to say that delivering to one particular neighbour reminded me of why I love living in the Highlands and of how precious and funny life is in my husbands home village………

Meanwhile The Munro’s were having a lovely time on the Italian Lakes.

Our girl turned 30…..

Which meant Billy had been a Papa for 30 years. So while she celebrated in Ireland, we lit the caterpillar cake at home.

Everything was going so well……I’d had my cousin and his family from the Phillipines up to stay. We had friends escaping the heat in Southern Spain to stay and my cousin from California. We went to a fantastic wedding reception which reminded us of how cool and good fun the next generation are and enjoyed a brilliant apres wedding party. Busy busy busy………

Until Spook fell off his bike on the way to work and didn’t unclip his right foot from the peddle. An operation and 8 weeks recovery is all that was required. And a little mobility assistance….

Crochet lessons have been offered and thus far rejected but it’s early days. He’s got the wool.

Spook’s a Lochaber man in life and in battle and the scooter (brilliant service from Shopmobility) enabled Spook to be independent on the sidelines of the game which was Lochaber against Inveraray. Courr will support whoever has the pizza and thankfully he wasn’t disgraced, disappointed,…or hungry.

Until Spook can get safely up and down the stairs he’s confined to the downstairs room. While Alison was away (again,) and Billy headed to Glasgow for a City Break, Courr was disgusted when Jane moved in.

Spook didn’t quite know how to feel when he ended up sleeping with her.

This was just before she shot under the covers and didn’t come out until morning. There seems to have been some bonding going on….

July has displayed all weathers. From threatening storm to sunny 30 degrees.

Who knows what August will bring. Courr will have to think of new ways to get the sausage dog out of his life. He’s tried to generate some sympathy by taking his food bowl down to the canal as if no-one is feeding him and I suppose stowing away on a boat to Scandinavia or Germany isn’t out of the question whilst there’s still lots of through traffic. Probably not Germany due to the Daschund issue.

With the mobility aid I can walk Spook and the dog at the same time. The destination even when kept on a firm lead, is however, different….

Education Bill

Like Ben said in Local Hero “there’s a lot of work left on this beach yet” (something like that,)and similarly there is a lot of history to be learnt yet, about Fort William.

I kept hearing mention of Annat village and I just assumed it was from ‘Roger’s’ road back towards town and included the whole industrial estate - Harbros, Sawmill, Ferguson’s, the Boat Yard etc.

But people who knew, meant the Lost Village of Annat. So then I couldn’t work out where that had been. There’s a tiny but very informative and nostalgic exhibit in the West Highland Museum until mid August. I asked Billy if he fancied a visit.

I didn’t ascertain just who it was that has taken the time to gather stories about this unique village of around 200 homes (or people?) but it’s a wonderful collection of stories and photographs - full of names that I recognise as Caol and Fort William names. Mathers, Shearer,Prosser,Confield etc.

Billy remembered the Naval Base at Corpach and the prefabricated homes that were created on the edge of town to house the military from 1942-1944, which became the village of Annat. There was a cinema where the old sawmill was that he used to go to. I’d thought the British Aluminium factory was a big enough target for bombers, but the large naval base was another worthwhile target.

When the base closed, the houses became available to the homeless who were such, because there had been no house building over the war years. We met a woman who’d been relocated to Kinlochleven when the village was bulldozed in the early 1950’s, and now lives in Glasgow and had come up to see the exhibit. The first thing she saw were 3 photographs that she was in. She said that her family had lived in one room rented in a house at Lundavra - her parents and her siblings. When they got a house at Annat it was amazing. 2 rooms, a toilet separate from the bathroom and a solid fuel cooking stove which only worked when you lit the fire in the living room! The countryside, views, friends - life was brilliant there. There was a school, shop and delivery van - driven by Billy’s great Uncle Peter McMillan.

Most folk moved to the village of Caol once the houses there were completed.

It’s a very small part of the museums treasure and is only there for another 6 weeks.

Billy and I had a quick lunch next door at the cinema before taking a sneaky peak at the site of the old village.

The hard standing terraces that were left made the perfect site for a caravan park - with the best sunsets within the town locale.

In the name of Educating Morag, Billy and I were talking about motorbikes and I remembered the bike Spook had (only just barely working) when we first met. It was an MZ. I knew absolutely nothing about that brand and learnt from Billy, all about Ernst Deger and his defection from East Germany with secrets of the MZ make-up and the drama of smuggling his family out in the false boot of a large car. I’d forgotten all about the Stasi - the secret service of East Germany

Another day I managed to educate Billy about a young woman I’d heard about on a podcast. Mary Manning who went on strike from Dublins Dunnes store in 1984 to protest against Apartheid and ultimately resulted in Ireland banning produce from South Africa, although she and her fellow 10 workers were on strike for 2yrs and 9 months on £21 strike pay a week. Desmond Tutu visited them and an African living in Ireland told them that South Africa was like a pint of Guiness - a small amount of white people on top and a lot of black underneath.

Christy Moore wrote a song about it. Called Dunnes Stores, funnily enough.

In between all the educational stuff, Courr continued on his determined path to remove Jane from his life in an effort to create his own apartheid where she does not get to share the same space as him. He carried her bowl to the river thinking she’d pursue him and maybe get washed away. But she didn’t care, and stayed at home with Billy.

Goats came back to live at Inveroy after many years absence. They had to get on a boat on Loch Nevis and travel the high seas to get to their new abode. Just as Courr had thought that Jane was his only problem…..

After a goats chase dog scenario, immediately followed by horses chase goat scenario and dog runs between all animals in a total panic and wishes Jane was there to help him scenario, things quickly settled. Although head butting dogs is still their favourite thing, there’s good eating to be had.

The truce with Jane over the goats didn’t last. Billy, Alison and Tom - all Jane’s favourite people - went to a music festival at Portsoy and left her behind. She had to come and live in Courrs house at Banavie. She became devoted to Spook and followed him everywhere. He spent the whole weekend welding his car and she spent the time sleeping in the drivers seat.

She got very territorial and told Ted the Collie to feck off, which was a shame cos Ted’s been coming round for years and is quite nice. So I put a muzzle on her and she took the huff. Courr was in a permanent huff the whole weekend so it was no odds to him.

Then I took the huff as I had to leave the marital bed and sleep next door with the disgruntled Courr.

Courr and I were both delighted when we delivered her home to Billy’s lap and we could get our lives back in order.

Over the month I managed time to scribble in my sketchbook and entertain myself - I could do this all day everyday but no one would get fed!

Meanwhile, Finn and Courr get more alike every day.

And a wee love note from us to Rua ‘Scoobiedoo’ in Ireland who isn’t well. Wee love you. X

Happy Birthday Spook….. Love from…. Jane. Xx

Quines, Loons, And Auld Foggies

Keith TMSA time. (Traditional Music and Song Association). Billy and Joy did all the wee niche eastern folk festivals for years. Last year Billy decided to revisit them in memory of his adventures at them with Joy. He managed Portsoy, Stonehaven and Kirriemuir. But Keith TMSA slipped through the net. I said I’d go to Keith with him next year. And suddenly it’s Keith time and the vans not ready!!!

Once the seating arrangements were sorted we tried it out….

Billy had the mail delivered directly to the van to test it for ‘home from home status’.

Everybody agreed that it was very homely indeed. We didn’t know how to tell the dogs that they weren’t invited to the festival. This was a happy moment for them, soon to be torn to shreds by total abandonment.

As the post delivery was Billy’s bank statement he could ascertain how much fish and chips we could afford. Alison’s boyfriend says that Billy has already consumed more than the UK quota of fish this year alone. A couple more can’t do much harm, surely.

Reidhaven Square in Keith. Spotlessly clean and peaceful apart from the fish-eaters.

Billy had told me that we mustn’t be late to the campsite as last in becomes the cabaret entertainment for everyone else so before getting our fish suppers, we’d set up camp.

Billy got his window blackout screens in place while I tackled my tent - having refused a lesson from my husband whom I’d assumed was being a patronising git…..

This was our home for the next 2 nights so, not an official campsite as such but provided all that we needed. Can’t think how everyone had remembered Joy and Billy from 2 years ago when they’d hosted the after party in their camper. How on earth did that happen? Look at the size of the rest of them!!

The site even provided First Responders to the tent erection issues that had developed alarmingly quickly in high winds which I assured my husband (later) were practically a tornado. Camp Commandant Christine and Fiddler Annie were quick to assist when I screamed as the tent almost took off and there was a bit of a ‘snap’ as a tent pole took the hit. Billy had been intent on settling his van into night mode and only heard the scream.

Billy said that this would definitely blow away while we were in the pub so was rattling through his toolbox looking for tape to fix the pole - clearly there was no way I was getting in his van.

But there was someone’s tent in a worse state than mine and he had to sleep in his car all weekend…..

I said to Billy that I wasn’t sure if he was drunk or just……”a bit like me!” Said Billy. But he was worried that if we stepped in the guy would either end up in with me or in with him. Word on the campsite was to leave him to sort it out as he always ended up in his car anyway.

Thankfully he was as much, if not more, the cabaret act as I was.

We celebrated the dropping of the wind with a night in The Ploo. The first bothy ballad we listened to was one of Joys favourites. The Balaena. A Dundee whalers song which Billy said I must know having spent 4 years in Dundee. Nope! Did not listen to whaling songs whilst living the dream as an art student!!

We had a great night - me on the Balvenie dram and Billy on the Virgin Cranberry Vodka, which is served straight, without the vodka.

Next day dawned a bit dreich but I got the morning paper while Billy got the coffee on.

We sat out the rain until Billy got bored and declared he was going to the Railway Club session.

There was no one on the street. They were all in the Railway club. Where I was on Railway Club malt of the month - Glenfiddich (at 2.30pm eek) and Billy was back on the Virgin Cranberry.

Flo, the pub dog, was well loved by everyone. But she had her favourites - especially ones who smelt of sausage dog…..

She launched herself from nowhere straight onto Billy’s lap and I couldn’t save him for laughing - and recording the moment, of course.

We went back to The Ploo for the session there before grabbing some dinner and making our way to the Bowling Club for the big concert. As we wandered past The Royal Hotel, Billy said that he and Joy had eaten there 2 years ago. The food was upstairs and Joy couldnt manage the stairs. So someone gave her a Fireman’s lift. I asked if she squealed and he said “yes - loudly”. And did you laugh? “Yes”. But the assistance she got up those stairs kind of reflects what Keith is about. They call it The Friendly Town and it absolutely is. Full of warmth and friendliness and after one night in The Ploo, we felt we knew everyone. Obviously it’s festival weekend but I’d say you’d get a Fireman’s lift up the stairs any day of the week if you needed it.

The talent was amazing. The celebration of the Scots language - the Doric version - and the love of story telling through music was heartwarming and totally engaging. I felt close to my mum as she would have LOVED it. I remembered how I forgot, that although Joy was very much a Highland girl, she was also a Quine from the east through her father’s side. Her granny was a Berry from a Traveller family north of Montrose and this music and song was part of her DNA.

We walked home at midnight and encountered the local ned in a black Corsa doing fast circuits of the town. I knew the song that was blasting out. One of my ain childhood favourites. Donald Where’s Yer Troosers. How cool was THAT!

The sunshine was back by Sunday morning and Billy was determined to get back to The Ploo and then the outdoor session in Reidhaven square. We parked outside the somewhat dilapidated Commercial Hotel because it was close to The Ploo. We could hear the music emanating from its open door. Outside the Comnercial was Boidie from Peat and Diesel who was having a fly smoke. He’d joined in Jarad Rowan’s session last night and was clearly in recovery.

Billy got out the van and felt dizzy. So he got back in the van and we had to decide if we were being too greedy. The suggestion that, had he collapsed in the street, Boidie was the nearest person to call to arms, and with my penchant for being easily Star struck, and my blog driven obsession, the chances were high that whilst Boidie was saving Billy, I’d be too busy taking selfies of us all…….Well, let’s say it helped Billy to focus on the best option. He’d noted how slow I was to save him from Flo the dog, after all.

We drove off, sad to leave as the Strathisla Pipe Band was tuning up ready to March to the square.

I loved Keith music festival and the amazing community who lives there and travels every year to enjoy and take part. For the last 50 years! I look forward to next year and just need to get a new tent pole. And maybe eat some humble pie and accept a lesson from the husband.

One to watch? Amy Papiransky. Raised in Keith, living in Glasgow. Billy noted that the festival had something for everyone when he, at 90, sat opposite 3 very young woman - old school pals of Amy. She was fantastic.

Maybilly

Who doesn’t love May? And this one just kept giving. I found myself pulling items of clothing out of cupboards just so I could wash them and boast about how quickly they dried. Simple pleasures or a very very dull life? I’m fine with it.

Billy turned 90 and we all piggybacked off the celebrations

The busy seats outside after the party had moved indoors spoke volumes. The love and respect for Billy was tangible.

Touch of the Gingers. Finn couldn’t be at the party as he left for a holiday in Oz the day before. But he sent his good wishes…..

The endless giving of the 90th birthday brought Meg home from Ireland.

We are only laughing in this photo as everywhere I went in the kitchen she was under my feet. She declared it to be because she loves me so much, which was a pleasant divergence from her usual glowering when we both want to be on the same spot.

And the timing of the birthday put her in exactly the right spot to help relocate Mr Brown the donkey to a different part of Knoydart. Such manoeuvres require the Spanish John landing craft and a sympathetic family with a lonely cow who said they’d shelter Mr Brown so that Wendy the cow could have company.

Now, it HAS been suggested in the recent past that Mr Brown has a touch of the Evil Penguin from Wallace and Gromit. Carol, his human mother is having nothing of that kind of slanderous commentary. However it seems he Waterboarded Wendy in the water trough before biting her ear so it may have some truth in it. In his defence, he was a bit pissed off and missing Carols kitchen.

There was a lot to do to help our friends with the big flit but there was a little leisure time for Meg and her dad.

Her Irish parents came for a trip to Scotland at the same time so we all enjoyed some of the high jinx of the flit at the Mallaig end.

Catching Mallaig between Steam trains on a sunny May Day - what’s not to like?

Meg and Darragh have a fox Red lab called Rua. Darragh and dog were still in Ireland and she was a bit sad about that. But she had to look after Rua’s grandparents so that made her happy.

Away to get them off the boat.

Each day we all soaked up the delights of May. And yes, we were trying not to buy into the fearful muttering of the anxious Crofter “aye, we’ll pay for this yet!” Whilst batting the thoughts away.

Knowing it would have to come and that of course, we knew we needed it….

It dropped from 22-25 degrees to 9 degrees and fresh snow on the hill tops. The Crofters were right. Always kept in our place by the weather. But the animals needed a wee bit rain to grow the grass

The only real problem with the rain is the dogs who’ve got used to dry weather and refuse to go out in it….

Feck off!!!!

April Photo Showers

April passed in a flurry of mostly sunshine. I ran out of time to post a blog before it ended so I’ll just summarise photographically from start to finish….

Torridon for Finn and Spook

Courr presided over many a family dinner.

Alison’s quails started laying and we had to work out what to do with tiny eggs.

It took this many eggs to make Spook scrambled egg on toast!!!

Billy hosted morning coffee in the holidays and my selfie taking didn’t improve. No idea how the youngsters do it.

Spook and I went on holiday to Italy with my brother and Steve and I discovered my duties were far greater than anticipated. It turns out boys are high maintenance and I’m the easygoing one. Who knew?

I was their uplift driver and under strict instructions not to scrape the car or run over any donkeys. It was easier said than done. Sometimes I had to go the village Trattoria alone to recover. I met the locals and learnt how to say bad words in Italian which I later found very useful. It really helped.

I did get a little time off to stay in the village which was bliss.

I really wanted to buy this for Billy Munro’s 90th birthday and drive it home. But I’d never have made it in time. Today is Billy’s birthday. Maybe I’d have made it to Calais.

This is the village we stayed in.

I loved Italy (but next time I may have to go alone) and I love being home.

Happy Birthday Billy. Many happy festival returns.

Springy Delights

Driving my delightful son home along the Fort William By-pass one morning after a night out in town he said “Is that a whale?”

I scanned the empty loch - “dearie me. What were you drinking last night?”

Later that day on a very low tide, I walked the dog under the pier…..

Turns out he wasn’t hallucinating - it kinda WAS a whale. And I’d never noticed it before!!!

After a really inspiring talk at the Roybridge Hall on the subject of Creag Meagaidh Nature Reserve, given by Rory Richardson who is the Reserve Manager, Billy and I went for a wee drive with the plan to buy some venison from them on the way back.

What they have achieved in terms of conservation and community involvement and a fantastic place to visit is truly impressive. Rory’s enthusiasm is infectious

. https://youtu.be/TXeNojy4nQg?si=PWOzU-IEfwafeRNt

We decided to drive through the Centre of Scotland, lunch at the Newtonmore Grill and then call in for the very good priced venison from the Reserve.

And here is the view from the centre of Scotland between the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea.

And here is the view of Courr stuck at ground level in the Grill while Jane gets the Penthouse…again.

Instead of sleeping in a tent under a railway bridge next to a very large puddle and dining at the Newtonmore Grill as I did when I turned 60, l decided this years birthday treat would be a little more upmarket but would be a solo trip. I adored my adventure with Running Girl last year but she doesn’t do luxury - brings her out in a rash. So I booked 2 nights in a hotel across the road from The Clutha in Glasgow. No schedule, no joint decisions to be made. Just make it up as I go along. Ride buses, stroll, watch, listen. Art exhibitions, Bridget Jones, wine at The Clutha, whisky at The Scotia.

I asked the artist if he was going to incorporate the art work already there. He said

“Naw. There’s rules. Once ye start ye need to completely cover the original work. And ye need tae be sure yer work’ll be better than theirs. But if someone has spoilt the work wi’ something like a wee cock an baws, ye can paint ower the whole thing……..jist in case yer wanting tae dae some yersel’.”

He did a good job. I stopped for a long look at the next one….

I don’t think anyone is going to paint over THIS one. There was a man and woman standing admiring it next to me. And because this is Glasgow, of course I went to The Clutha for a glass of wine with them before we went to our respective cinema viewings.

My date with Bridget Jones was just a little later than their film and we arranged to meet at The Scotia afterwards before they caught their bus home.

Now this was bliss. 5 people in the cinema and I didn’t have to negotiate what film to watch. Last time I ate a tub of popcorn sitting next to Spook he threatened to divorce me.

After another glass of wine at The Scotia and 2 drams whilst listening to a rock band playing covers, I was just one dram short of Pogo dancing to the Buzzcocks so they had to safely walk me the 4 paces back to my hotel. So much fun.

Courr wasn’t impressed by my absence and didn’t think it was fun at all.

Back to normal life The Mobile Librarian alerted us to the fact that she was in the area. Would we like to peruse her wares and she could talk us through some possible reading matter? She has trained in such discourse so it was a good offer.

The Librarian had a range of Self Help books she recommended. I chose one on How to Pogo Dance in later Life (Without Injury). Billy chose one on how to convert a Mobile Library into a Campervan.

When the weather turned amazingly good, we abandoned books.

Meanwhile, way out West at Doolin on Irelands Wild Atlantic Coastline……

Our Meg and Rhua were having a moment.

March has brought dark,wet and cold days, but far more bright and sunny ones. I love March.

Happy Spring.

And Now We Need to Talk About The ‘Other’ Dog

Playing 2nd fiddle to a weirdy-looking wee brown thing when you’re clearly the cutest dawg in the room, is a hard pill to swallow.

You do what you have to do, and sometimes it’s just not enough.

Billy and Jane have had to hit the road a couple of times this month to escape the installation of the new heating system and insulation. When you’ve done everything that’s needed done over the last 60+ years yourself, it’s not comfortable to have strangers drill holes in your precious house. Especially when they wear short trousers.

There’s no leaving the canines behind so we put them in a shared space to see if they could, well, share.

Body language is loud and clear. Jane wants to sit on Billy’s lap and Courr wants her to disappear. They moved around to see if they could reach a compromise - neither the lap nor the disappearance being an option.

The communication was all directed at the humans. The dogs simply weren’t talking to each other.

We had breakfast out at Nevis Range where everyone loved Jane and ignored Courr. Very galling. Jane is delightful with humans but when another dog came in she turned into a snarling monster and I had to tuck her under my arm like a rugby ball and leg it out of there at speed. Thankfully we’d finished eating.

Heavy rain greeted us as we approached the Corran Ferry. Then the sun split the skies on the peninsula and we had the loveliest drive, walk and picnic lunch (from the Bakery in Acharacle).

Warm sunshine at Castle Tioram got us out onto the shore.

I’ve never mastered the Selfie, but we had a giggle.

The walk helped with the relationship issues. At least for a while.

We’d to take a 2nd trip the next week with more workman making holes in the house so we took the ferry again but turned right instead of left and went up the side of the loch across from the A82 and Fort William. We had lunch in Cafe Mara at Corpach Basin where Jane and Billy had a chat about the morning’s journey.

Courr was really pissed off. No amount of dieting will make him lap-sized.

He has a cunning plan though. He removes Jane’s 3 food dishes (who needs 3 dishes???) from Billy’s house on a daily basis. It doesn’t matter how many times I bring them back, he’s unrelenting. Jane is too heavy to remove so starving her out is worth a try.

He’s also tried making himself look more appealing in the hope that Billy will be won over.

Billy is made of tougher stuff.

And who can resist wrinkly wee ankles? She is the Nora Batty of dogs. Could Billy be her Compo?

Billy hosted a wee dinner in the Grand Hall at Foich, Inveroy. It’s been a very tough year.

To give Courr some respite from the ever present Jane, I took him for a doggy spa break over on the east. But the other attendees were either hogging the tv or the fire, so it wasn’t all just as he’d like.

Billy got the chance to go to Ballachulish for a Gary, Ewan and Ruairidh gig and decided Jane couldn’t come. Courr would have been delighted if he’d known but he was too busy being miserable at home as he wasn’t invited either.

After 2 weeks of amazing February weather it turned into almost 2 weeks of yucky February weather. Neither Jane nor Courr wanted to go anywhere. Nobody did. Except kayakers, and the ducks.

March tomorrow. Love it.

We Need To Talk About Jane

It’s a long old month. About 42 days long!! By the time they pay you early (woohoo we’re rich) and then don’t pay you again until the very last day (lucky to make it through the divorce-rich Blue Monday mid January,) you’re on your hands and knees. The stretching days get us through it as we marvel on a daily basis that it’s lighter in the mornings and afternoons as if we never knew this was going to happen. That element of delightful surprise is what brings us alive. Never taking the daylight for granted.

We’ve had everything from -10 degrees to a super bomb of a storm. We’ve had rain but not actually that much. We’ve had sunshine. We’ve had snow. All in all, it’s been a pretty good month.

I struggled to let the Christmas tree go. Cam, Amy and Rhiannon went to a lot of bother to get it and Spook did a great job of securing it. There seemed no need to dismantle it and it became a winter tree.

I read my coffee leaves and they said that Santa agreed I could hold onto the tree at least until a big storm threatened to blow it over.

When it got frosty I re-established the bird table and then spent even longer over my breakfast coffee.

This has created gang warfare amongst the Robins, party time on the grass for a big flock of Chaffinches, some nibbles from Tits, great and small, and a Woodpecker.

The men of the household are not sure about my decoration of the table. As I haven’t planted a garden I got some fake daisy lights to replace the festive tree.

I think it’s delightful though my flower growing friends would encourage me to plant some real ones. Maybe this year.

My son was coming home after almost 2.5 years overseas and the big storm was chasing him across the Atlantic. Billy needed to listen to my over anxious fussing and join me in my anxious over eating, while my sister sent me minute by minute pictures of his plane journey as she tracked it on an app.

The donut really helped.

Thankfully Jane came into Billy’s life and she has helped to break up my endless whinging.

One has to remember that Billy doesn’t do dogs. Courr has sneaked in under the radar and is considered to be ‘almost civilised’ but really he is tolerated.

Jane has had a very unsettled period in her life as her owner died. She’s been spending a bit of time with Billy while she works out what she’s going to do.

Badass Bill would really have been the last person a wee dog would hang out with while pondering her future…..

Photo given to Billy by Mick Tigh and taken by Alex Gillespie. This man should not be approached.

This one, however, knows when a wee dog is sad and needing a rescue package.

She’s been working on him, right enough.

Oh she’s very good at it!!!

She barks plenty, so no one can sneak up on Billy. She doesn’t moan about stuff and she doesn’t prattle on. Whilst she enjoys a wee walk, she’s easily satisfied and if she could snuggle up in a cosy house all day, she’d choose that over stretching her tiny legs any day.

Jane, in her innocence, didn’t know about all the ‘rotten’ dogs that have come before her. Amongst them, Mali the Alsatian that Spike insisted they rescue when the boys were wee (it ran away regularly, ate a hole in the living room wall, ate the boys collected tadpoles etc) - Billy still scowls when you mention him. The giant Poodle which ate a Silkie hen. The owners gave Billy a bottle of whisky by way of apology. The Silkies never laid any eggs and Billy said it was the most productive the hen had ever been, thanks to that ‘rotten’ dog. Joy had rotten dogs when he first met her, and Billy’s own parents had rotten dogs that kept running away. Then along came Jane with her big doughy eyes.

And safely home came Finn, just ahead of the storm, catching the last flight out of London before it hit. A week after arrival he started work at the Saw Mill - I think that’s because he looks like a Lumberjack.

That’s what 2 years in Canada does for you. Only thing missing is an axe over his shoulder.

December Dauners

Happy Hogmanay. Blowy and wet and easy to forget it hasn’t been like that for ALL of December.

Spook and I started our December with my old pal of 40 years and his wonderful Melanie. It’s a 12 hour drive to visit them so hasn’t happened in years. Ever since I read book 4 of The Famous 5 I wanted to go to the smugglers haven of Rye. I’ve waited so long it isn’t actually on the seaside any longer. When did that happen???? Over 50 years since I read it but I dare say a lot longer since she wrote it.

I don’t normally get all excited about Christmas but Mel and Richard were already excited on 1st December so I had to step up - especially as Meg and Darragh were coming over from Ireland for Christmas - his 1st with us and her 1st in 5 years. And she loves Christmas, so wee bit pressure!!

We started with Santa’s house as he went through his list of things to do. Santas Helper was very helpful as goes with the title…..

Not a single crumb touched the napkin and the staff were able to put it back in the drawer without washing. Auntie Al turned 50 so we went out to celebrate at Letterfinlay.

This is the dawg that slipped through the Billy Munro net of resistance.

We took a drive up to Cairngorm to see how things were looking there. Then we had soup, fantastic chips and sausage for the dug at the Newtonmore Grill. I love this place!!

Our friend Roberto despairs of my lack of a sense of adventure and took us out on his boat from Corpach Marina. I’m always keeping an eye on which is the closest shore - just in case.

Roberto is the most determined person I know. It drives him against all the odds, and the Nyali is his pride and joy.

We got a few lovely frosty days. Always welcome in winter and increasingly rare.

Things really hotted up once Meg hit the Irish seas. Aussie Cam, Amy and Rhiannon were dispatched on a rainy evening to find a tree and to not return without one.

They did very well.

Christmas, the first without granny Joy, was one she’d have enjoyed. As Papa said, she liked Christmas.

Carol, who’s pretty special, invited us all out to Camusrory on Knoydart. Billy hadn’t been out since 2009 when he’d walked in with his friend Barney and they’d partied in Sourlies Bothy with a happy group of men who’d all been made redundant. There were instruments and much merriment. It’s a 5.5hr hard hike in and if you have special friends, you can get an easier ride in to the last great wilderness in Europe - so it is often called.

David is a very safe pair of hands and devoted his time to our welfare. There is no nipping in and out from Loch Nevis to pick up friends or buy a pint of milk. It’s an hour by boat from Mallaig - including the short drive to their house.

Where Meg and Darraghs dog Rua, met his grandparents, Maurice and Minnie. Maurice and Rua discovered a mutual love of the green croc.

Grandpa and Granny

Rua also discovered a mutual love of Knoydart - which he shared with all of us.

Papa and I had opted for the lift to Carnoch in the side by side quad while the rest walked.

We were reunited with Mr Brown who took a real fancy to Billy. Every time he turned round he was there. He’s a bit of a sinister lurker and Darragh said he reminded him of the penguin in Wallace and Gromet. We were all a wee bit scared of him. Except Billy.

Mr Browns best friend - the one he never bullies or tries to scare, is Biscuit….

Carol and David wined and dined us and one overnight felt like the adventures of one week.

There was an option to get back to Mallaig on the warm, dry boat or the RIB. Billy and I chose warmth and the others chose a wee bit of a breeze and a sea eagle.

Carol and David are grafters. Fitting us in to their busy schedule and giving us such a unique adventure as a family was priceless. That’s a hard one to beat. In fact, it can’t be.

Thanks to Darragh for lending me some of his lovely pics.

We are all set for a New Year now.

You Cannot Go Walking With Those Pants

The dog developed a special liking for knickers in November. Thankfully Spooks and not mine.

For the first few days it was quite unrelenting…..

However, once we were over the pants hurdle, the month itself has been delightful. I try not to dwell on how sinister the temperatures have been and focus on the beauty of it - a good November under the belt really eases us in to winter.

Carpet of moss in the west coast rainforest

There’s a great view whether you look at your feet or ahead of you…..

A wee lochan on the back road to The Clachaig, Glencoe.

The Waxwings arrived on the croft on the 1st of November and stayed until they’d stripped the whole place of Rowan berries. Scamp comes to stayover once a week and on one morning walk, I stayed still to watch and listen, while she scamped about. She got plenty excercise and I got none….

That one needs full volume to enjoy the moment on the 8th of November. Including the cockerel as the sun comes up.

Scamp is very patient for a 6 month old, but she CAN be a little needy at times…..

Not that I’m suggesting she’s the only needy one...

For the first time ever, I went to the Remembrance service at the Commando Monument. With continuing wars causing death and misery for millions and making some people very rich - and with the religious element not a comfortable fit, I’ve preferred to remember it in my own way, based around stories my mum told me. I almost fell over myself trying to physically distance myself from God Save The King, so I’m a bit of a disgrace…..but it was very poignant nevertheless.

Spook went to Italy with my brother, increasing the Needy November Knicker issue, so I took Courr away for some distraction therapy in the East at my best friends house. She’s got one or 2 dogs (more like 24) and there’s a strict pecking order, which helped Courr to come to terms with his own Fuckwittery. There was just no point!!

One must NOT disturb Whip when she’s updating her social media.

He came to terms with it all eventually and the rewards were heathery hillsides and stubby fields with glorious new smells.

Dill O’ The Hill has oodles of patience and is just delighted that she was that days choice to assist in my pal’s endeavours along with some of my Finzean Favourites….

However, none of that days work on the hill could happen until the same squad had man-handled the Gamekeepers very wide, brand new recliner into his house, fitted it’s feet, and talked him through the workings, so that he could get appropriate rest after the long days that he works.

Finzean truly is a Fair Place and the way this community pulls together at the best and worst of times, is genuinely heartwarming.

It was time to head west again. There was a diversion from Grantown on Spey on the way over from home, at the junction to Tomintoul as the road had dissolved a bit at Bridge of Brown. A local man at the Lecht, where I’d stopped to walk the dog, told me that I should take the short cut from Tomnavuillin past Tomintoul Distillery on the way home as that was much quicker. Nothing like a wee bit local knowledge.

The light was wonderful and inspiring and went from this…..

To this……within 5 or 6 miles…..

The local knowledge short cut took me from Tomintoul to Tomintoul in 40 minute’s - in a snow storm. The shortcut brought me out AT the road closure, and not beyond it and within 5 mins of the road block, I was back to the start of the diversion. Still, the snow storm had passed and the light changed completely on my 2nd attempt and I added to my Whisky Distillery tour by passing Glenlivet twice, Tamnavuillin twice, Tomintoul only once thankgoodness, Ballindalloch, Cragganmore, Tormore and the new one at Grantown on Spey called The Cairn. All I know is that my head was spinning by the time I was passing it on my way west, having just ‘done’ 9 distillery’s in quick succession and there had been some weird subliminal affect on my brain that required me to pour a dram soon as I got home.

That mid November day was the temperature turning point. It had been 17 degrees in Finzean the day before on the 16th.

Moonlit walks with the dog on frosty nights were magical.

Last of the Summer Wine walks with Billy where we discussed ‘Mrs Cooks’ house which hasn’t been Mrs Cooks for decades, and which he could tell me used to be the Nurses house - Annie, though he didn’t know her 2nd name. She’d ridden a Velocette LE which was a ‘silent’ motorbike, mostly used by the police in the 1950’s. Back at the car I suddenly realised the first major frost had just occured and on last weeks walk, we’d wandered past Ronald’s Blackthorn tree which was laden with berries. I had a glass bowl in the car and messaged Ronald to ask if I could harvest his tree. He was waiting beside it when we drove along and he and Billy caught up on vital local information. Annie was a McMaster, and the frame of her Velocette was just down the croft, in the burn, as she had presumably sold or given it to Ronalds father. If it hadn’t been snowing we’d have been straight down there looking for it. If it really HAD been Last of the Summer Wine we’d have hauled it back to Billy’s shed where it would have been restored to its former glory. It dawned on me that Billy hadn’t lived up here in the 1950’s - he moved up in 1969 - so how did he know about Annie the nurse? She used to bring her motorbike into Marshal and Pearsons garage where he worked! Of course he remembered most bikes that came through the workshop!!!

As chill sets in, everyone needs a wee bit extra comfort, food and shelter…

Sometimes the dogs just need a duvet day - like the rest of us…..

And comfort food……like two pieces of shortbread, with jam in the middle, icing and a cherry on top. Last of the Summer Wine always ended up in the cafe, but after the First of the Winter Sloe Gin it was a cuppa at Billy’s.

To end November we drove to Rye to celebrate St Andrews Day with beloved pals we rarely get to spend time with.

They are artists and I wanted to see their studios. Courr ran through the pots of pigment powder and we could have dipped him in water and rolled him on canvas…

Having paint all over you makes you a bit of a social pariah, unfortunately. Anyway, we’re having a lovely time down here. Happy St Andrews Day.

Dogged Days, Rainbows, and passing Storms.

October’s a long month - 31 days to be exact. Ending with what was the wedding anniversary of my mother and my adoptive father. Having increased their respective families in 1969 to a blended one of 5 children, with this marriage, I think they chose All-Hallows-Eve (Samhain) so that they wouldn’t have to take us out guising, as neither were of the Couthy School of Parenting.

But what made it particularly long this year was that we got sick in the 2nd last week which made that week feel like a month in itself. Norovirus has been circulating and perhaps we got that, which spread around us with varying degrees of misery. Being sick at 60 is bad enough but my father in law assures me that it’s much worse at 89. Spook didnt have time to get sick as he was too busy looking after Billy and I, and spent a crazy amount of time out on rescues (slightly more than half of the actual call-outs for the month as he couldn’t manage them all,) in between full time work. However, we all made remarkably quick recoveries in time to see out the last rays of October. When those clocks change, the evening darkness comes down like a shutter!!! Maybe its just as well October was long so that we could immerse ourselves in the colour and light of it.

I started with a trip east to spend time with my oldest friend who was running a drop in ‘paint apples’ session at the Plenty Festival. She’s the Artist in Residence with the Far Orchard project at The Barn in Banchory. I left my clingy little dog with my husband so that I could enjoy 4 hrs of painting apples without his huffy little face at the window. Spook then had 2 days of his huffy little face on the beautiful hillside which he refused to explore as he was ‘nursing his wrath to keep it warm’ just like his mammy does when SHE’S pissed off.

Huffy Pants

Apples (and maybe beetroot?????)

Then I went south to visit my beloved Ayrshire relatives. I asked my sister if she wanted to come and she said yes, let’s take the dogs. I said no, that was too much. My aunt said, of course bring the dogs, we love them…….. hold that thought.

Firstly I had to sit in the back all the way as neither dog would let me sit in the front without them.

Chauffeur driven

My name is Morag. I am a pathetic example of a human being and I should know better. But honestly, it was the only way without having to wear a dog on my head. We went to Prestwick beach for a pre-visit walk and for the dogs to let off steam. In reality Scamp the pup had pre-loaded a lot of sea water which she then spewed all over the kitchen floor after 30 minutes of stealing slippers, doorstoppers, and crocs. I’d say mine was a dream dog…..(is that a Rastafarian blanket, Aunt Jean??)

Rastafarian?

…..except that he’d stored his pre-load of sea water in his bladder and ran off down the street, across the road and down the next street with me hollering after him I thought he’d gone forever, but thankfully it turned out he was just looking for a spot of grass for a pee and when he couldn’t find any he came back and soaked Aunt Jean and Uncle Davids nice stone chip front garden. He’s such a prince. I’m thinking my relatives may have had to have a lie down after we left. Sorry Aunt Jean, Uncle David and Liz It was SO lovely to see you.

There was loads of opportunities for dry, unhuddled strolling…..

Last of the summer

Spook just needs a stick

Caledonian Canal

Scamp has a sleepover once a week to try and teach Courr about love and sharing. Even though she tries to pretend she’s a Warg at times.

How Scamp wants Courr to see her.

In reality, she is the sweetest natured dog and Courr has much he could learn from her. Although Courr does work better as an artists companion, than Scamp….

Dutiful dog

Scrappy sketch

Outdoor sketching is a bit of stretch for me as I don’t get perspective but I’ve begun enjoying it for the sake of it. I usually bring it home and add stuff…..sometimes I rip it up and rearrange it. Scamp took it upon herself to redesign the image.

Scamps attempt at improvement

Doggy Perfection

Courr was delighted that the annoying, popular little dog had messed up. I’d say he probably put a gaelic curse on her - imeacht gan teachr ort - I looked it up - it implies that the ‘person’ should go away and never come back.

Gypsy Courr-Lee

October brought stormy weather plus a proper, named storm. One morning of frost. Colours that we never tire of. Waxwings from Scandinavia to harvest the berries. As they filled their bellies (800-1000 berries a day per wee bird) we filled ourselves with as much light as we could,

Field of seaweed

Floors that hing oan

One frosted morning

4.30pm  Week before clocks change  

Peanmeanach Bothy Just before the storm.

Peanmeanach Bothy  Calm before the storm.

Waiting for the Waxwings

Classic October

Making myself Billy’s devoted servant (I’m like my dog,) is a frightening thing. He was fixing his boiler and I tailed (ha ha) him everywhere as he doggedly (ha) worked to make a copper washer that was the wrong size, into the right size. After 5 attempts the dog was bored. After 10, I was bored. After 15 Billy decided he was bored but the only way he was getting a shower was to persevere. I gave up and went to do the shopping, while the dog huffed in the car. Billy fixed the boiler. It was always going to be fixed……

Meanwhile back at home, I persuaded our young Aussie Ghillie that if he wanted to be like his Dad when he was a batchelor at Braeroy, he needed to get his clothes and his boots as close to the Rayburn as possible. I suspect Roddy of Braeroy, never had such bright pants, but I felt this brought Cam closer to his father..

Bothy Laundry

Whilst dodging horse poop in my crocs, I googled Waxwings because Billy and I could hear them chattering on Roberts croft next door as they harvested the berries. I remember back in 2016, about to head off south to visit my mum, when I watched them pour onto our croft, the air filled with their sound. I’ve never seen so many since, even though I’ve watched for them each year. Apparently when the arrive in huge numbers it’s called an ‘irruption’ and it can be expected around every 8 years or so. It’s to do with what the feeding grounds are like in Scandinavia at the time. When there’s not enough food they come in their masses.

Billy’s Berries

Waxwing Irruption of 2016

Happy Halloween

Dodgy Biscuits and Music Festivals

September began with an opportunity to apply some Highland Hospitality. Spook answered my phone to a man who said they’d been locked out of their booked campsite due to arriving late and did we have a hook-up and showers. I heard him say that we didn’t but they could park in the yard and use the house facilities. I opened the yard gate when they arrived and shut it behind them. It’s good I don’t keep it padlocked or they might have felt a little anxious. Their holiday hadn’t got off to a great start as they’d flown from Luton to Glasgow but her baggage had flown somewhere else, and as they were picking up a hired camper and travelling around the NC500 with no fixed abode, there was nowhere to send her luggage so she was to pick it up on her way back to Luton. Then they’d grabbed dinner in town before going to the campsite where reception was closed and no contact or explanation of where they were to park. So in a panic they’d found the website for my 2 caravans and hoped we could help. Traditonal Highland Hospitality is that should someone come to your door for help or shelter, you are duty bound to assist. The most treacherous example of this being the MacDonalds of Glencoe sheltering Campbells and English soldiers in 1692. I learnt about Highland Hospitality from Joy and Billy Munro - my parents-in-law - who demonstrated this hospitality on a seemingly weekly basis - the best example being when an outdoor pursuits minibus broke down outside their house. Billy ran an eye over the engine to see if he could fix it, while Joy made them a cup of coffee and they enjoyed a slide show of the northern region of Xingua Provence as my friend had called round to entertain the Munros with her pics.

The couple from London were a little bemused by the open door policy and lack of any payment. I did explain that they needed to just take things as they found them as I’d done 7 loads of washing on a wet day and the hallway was strewn with hanging sheets in a web of clothy dampness like something out of Miss Haversham’s hoose and they had to weave their way through it to find the shower room. Also Aussie Cam had done his washing which was draped over a clothes horse in the same space. I’d forewarned Cam not to be dashing from room to room in his bright orange underpants as he has been known to do - it’s possibly an Aussie kinda thing. I felt the couple had enough to deal with. I’d told them just to come in and out of the house when they needed the loo or shower and not to knock. The next morning I went out to say goodbye. Sometimes my ADD, finds that the H kicks in, manifesting itself as a tendency to over friendliness. I get sort of excited and nervous and can be a tad over-whelming. A thought was running through my head that they might try to pay something and in a Rapunzal moment, I pondered insisting they call their first born child Morag as it’s a name that is dying out.. At the risk of scaring them into thinking they were in a Tartan Noir horror, I resisted and just wished them a good trip and the offer to keep the towels.

The Indian Summer took a wee while to kick in and didn’t quite pan out the way I’d hoped. It was the 6th before it began and possible the 8th when it ended, in terms of Indian heat. Ben Race day saw a temperature of 24 degrees at the summit and turned out to be one of the toughest race conditions for many years. It took it’s toll on many runners and the next day was much cooler, with snow on the summit by the 9th. Spook had turned his ankle 3 days before the race and so was spared this serious discomfort and he went off to the Kirriemuir music festival with his Dad and his sister - the folk one, not the AC/DC festival.

Not to imply that I’ve nothing better to do with my time, but with the benefit of a joint account, I could trace their movements and got the impression they were having a good time. There can’t be too many watering holes in Kirrie, but I’d say they were in all of them. Starting with the Tavern and finishing there, so I worked out that was near the campsite. I now know the names of the places to be - Kerymor Tavern, Thrums Hotel, Three Bellies Brae and the Airlie Arms Hotel. If you know Kirrie and you think they missed a goodie, then do let me know so they can include it in next years repertoire.

The month at least stayed dry and pleasant for the most part. Weekday coffee and a walk around the croft at Inveroy can be partaken. Billy insists he’s allergic to dogs, which is handy for keeping them at arms length. Horses don’t seem to affect him….

There’s an old tradition that gets applied on these walks, which I never experienced myself, but I recognised it as soon as I saw it. The Walker and Cameron family of Upper Inveroy would know it too. Alistair Cameron - The Ploo (plough) would use the end of his stick to point out things of interest or bits you missed (like the best tattie at harvest time, just covered in soil and barely visible, but not to be left behind), and Billy has developed this approach. I expect Spook will continue the tradition when the time comes.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are cake delivery day in the Spean village shop. I’m often tempted by a cream donut when I’m picking up the paper, but I know that’s not Billys style. So I bought him a biscuit that I was sure he would like, but which has an off-putting name. I handed him the paper bag and said “I’ve bought you two bits of shortbread with jam in the middle, with icing sugar and a cherry on top.”

“very nice” he said and opened the bag

“That’s an Empire Biscuit!” he said. But I was ready for him and countered with the fact that it would be a shame to miss out on a biscuit he liked, and if they could re name Glasgow Streets that were called after slave traders, we could rename the biscuit. I did a bit of research and vaguely speaking, they were generally known as German biscuits, but in WW1, English soldiers decided to rename them Empire biscuits on account of the fact that they were busy fighting the nation that had created these tasty bites. One account said the Scottish soliders called them Belgian biscuits and I did find that Kiwi’s call them Belgian biscuits because they look a wee bit like Belgian buns - on the top, at least. So the next time I was in on a Thursday, I asked the shop assistance for a Belgian bisucit. She looked in the cabinet and looked at me….

“I’m Belgian,” she said in English with no hint of an accent. “And there’s nothing in here, we’d call a Belgian biscuit.“

Honest to goodness. What are the chances that the new member of staff is Belgian on the day I decide to try out the new name?

The Empire biscuit issue reminds me of someone who once told me he thought he may have encountered my mother in law at a local restaurant. By coincidence, it was the Jubilee weekend and a German friend was visiting and had taken them out to dinner. My informant told me that this woman had taken issue with the menu and was struggling to find something she liked.

“Coronation Chicken? Hmmm - no, I don’t think so.”

“Balmoral Chicken? Nope. Oh dear - I see there’s a Victorian Sponge for pudding!”

“I’ll just have to have the fish and chips followed by cheesecake.”

Which is exactly what she would have ordered anyway - she just appeared to need to hold a protest of some sort.

“Could that have been your mother in law?” he asked.

Aye.

On a dull-ish Monday, with the hope that many tourists had gone home, my sister and I took a trip out to Arisaig for a walk along Camusdarrach Beach. All was quiet, and we found Barbie doing what she does best - conquering the world in the scantiest of outfits.

She’s some dame!

Harvest Moon and some Northern Lights, all help to make September a favourite month, even if it wasn’t quite the wall to wall blue skies I was looking for.

And the return of Lochaber Live, brought a very special weekend to the town. Glorious weather and all the generations partying together. It felt good to have been at the last one 30 years ago, and to see people there that I knew had made it happen back then. I only partook in it lightly this year, whilst fondly remembering pulling work colleagues out of hedges and laughing loads as a 30 year old. Much to my father-in-laws disappointment, he only took in the Sunday afternoon family ceilidh with his 60 year old companion (me). But we both acknowledged that children getting their first taste of a ceilidh and music festival was brilliant. He did join us each morning for analysis of the previous evenings high jinks - one morning he’d already boiled his Inveroy egg, so he brought it with him…..

It came on it’s own plate - ready salt and peppered - and one could understand why he wasn’t down grading to a shop bought one.

Throughout the summer I’ve done some Talks in a local hotel, for mostly American tourists who travel here on the train. I’ve bent Billy’s ears for months over the matter of what I might talk about and it obviously needs to include a bit of history. The Clan Cameron museum at Achnacarry, as well as the West Highland Museum are treasure troves and I discovered Billy had never been to the one in Achnacarry nor St Ciaran’s church which sits on the estate, so the other day we took a trip down there. I’ve been plittering about with paints on paper to very little avail - just making patterns and trying to be mindful and relaxed with no other aim. But I did think they had a bit of a look of the church window. I come here quite often, for one who has no religious belief.

Meanwhile, my son, who was always known as Horizontal, is travelling around America, sending me pics of hot springs in the middle of nowhere, salt flats, and roaming Buffalo. And my daughter, who stole the H from my ADHD is none stop in Ireland, working out at Crossfit, running, working, cooking, socialising and has just brought Dougal, her sourdough starter back to life after 2 years at the back of her fridge. I might have to spend some time in Ireland. Dougal brings an extra level to life quality.

Bring on October.

Augustus Uvidulus-Drookitus

My Father-in-Law was a bit annoyed at me. He said I was wishing summer away. But I wasn’t. I was only wishing August away. It’s my least favourite month of the year. I hadn’t realised he was correct. August IS the end of summer. June, July and August collectively is summer. But I’ve been telling anyone who will listen that we’re going to have a wonderful Indian Summer all of September and at least half of October, so I consider it just to be starting, not ending. In Ireland they call it ‘the little autumn of the geese’. I can thole anything that August brings if I promise myself an Indian Summer. It’s dry, sunny, the colours are beginning to turn and the roads are quieter. There’s an early morning, envigerating cool autumn air and the spiders hiding places are revealed by the dew.


August comes with the expectation that it will be all about barbeque’s, holidays and suntans, but in the Highlands it brings gridlocked roads, rain and midgies - although the midgies struggled to get a grip in the high winds, which included the tail end of a hurricane this year. When the sun does squeeze through the clouds, it can have an exotic heat, but the next shower brings the temperatures down, along with the spirits, and the moment passes. I don’t blame the holidaymakers for the gridlock. Why wouldn’t you want to come to the Highlands for your holidays? I did it myself when I was 19, once the hay was all in from the fields in late June and I had time to hitch my way around the north west in glorious July sunshine. I knew then that this beautiful region was where I wanted to live. When the sun shines we have wonderfully short memories and forget that it rains. I suspect that short memories and eternal optimism have evolved for our emotional well being in the west Highlands - if you don’t have that, you’re stuffed.

I’ve felt so sorry for the toursits. Often they will say they don’t come to Scotland for the weather. A Maltese family told me it was 40 degrees at home and they spend an hour in the sea each morning and night and the rest of the day hiding inside with the air conditioning on full blast. A Swiss man on his boat in full wet weather gear, told me his friends at home wished they were here as it was too hot at home. He didn’t look so convinced. We’re so lucky to have the water - we know that. But the unrelenting rain this August has almost brought us to our knees. I’ve enjoyed watching the world pass through Neptunes Staircase, using it to cross east to west coast or vice-verse. I’ve had lot’s of French and Dutch visitors at my caravans who have been a real pleasure to meet. August is a stay at home, lucrative and hard working month, and I soak up the exotica of the peope passing through. But here we are at the last day - sun shine and promise. Love it!!

This was the last rays of July. I love that it looks like I’m on a full on drove. In reality it was a 10 minute manoeuvre!

Also the last rays of July. Meg and Cam grew up together before he and his family moved to Australia over 21 years ago. He currently lives with us.

Late July and half of August brought Meg, Darragh, Rua the Lab, and the pizza oven. It also brought 2 Kiwi’s, Roberto and his girlfriend Ellie, and if you throw in Aussie Cam, we sometimes had 7 or 8 for dinner. For the first part of July, me and the dawg lived completely alone because Spook had legged it to Canada, so it was quite a contrast.

Saying goodbye was sad…..

Meg was so worried there wasn’t enough space for the dog that she nearly off loaded the precious pizza oven. She needn’t have worried….

Rua was the saddest to leave. It’s always a wee bit hard when the holidays end.


Running Girl continued with her weekly dips but had to combine her winter and summer attire…

I squeezed in a visit to my bestest old pal at the start of the month over on the east, arriving at 10.15pm in time for the birthday cake. We became best friends when I called in to Aviemore on that hitchhiking trip. I knew that cool girl from college lived there so I thought I’d look her up…..and now we’re 60!!

Tomorrow is September. Today the sun shone, loaded with promise…

And a little creative pollution.

60 in Speyside. A Wee Piece of Paradise

A man drove towards and past us on that long walk out from Glen banchor towards Newtonmore. He stared at Sara as he drove by, his head moving to keep her in view as he drove, a wide smile on his face. We stopped and looked at each other. What on earth was THAT about. Although we felt a bit bedraggled and broken, we didn’t think we looked in any way comical. Sara said it would have freaked her out if she’d been on her own. (And without me, she wouldn’t have been there at all.)

As we dropped down into the village, the same man came back along the road and wound down his window to talk to us. Still grinning. He’d seen us at Laggan less than 5 hours ago. It was the dog he remembered - presumably Sara and I had melted into something beyond recognition. He’d been going up the road for a recce as he was planning the same walk next day, but to include a Munro. He didn’t explain exactly why we were so funny, but at least he wasn’t sinister anymore.

Destination Grill. We could smell it before we saw it. A Highland Truckers Cafe and the loveliest welcome. Wet dogs and women welcome, we set up camp next to a radiator. We had no idea where we would be sleeping but I didn’t care. We could eat, drink, recover and had about an hour and a half until darkness.

We asked the waitress where she thought we could camp. She asked the Cook, he asked the Manager. Sara pointed out a long path down to a tunnel under the railway line and asked if they knew who owned that land. I said I thought it would belong to Robert from This Farming Life as Spook and I had watched it the other night and he was rounding up sheep near the shinty field. The Manager said Robert would be in later as he came for a pint every Friday. So Sara did a wee recce to see if it looked like a viable spot, declared that it was, and we waited for Robert. I recognised him straigth away and said “Robert!” as he walked past us to the bar. He looked marginally alarmed and then a little ‘sheepish’ when I said I knew him from the programme.

“But that’s not what I want to ask you about. Is that land over there yours, and can we put a wee tent up for the night?”

He looked down the lane and explained that it was Common Grazing ground up to the fence under the tunnel and if anyone (most likely one grumpy farmer who used the lane) challenged us, we could say that we’d checked and that it was ok to camp.

“But it’s going to rain ALL night!” he said. “Why don’t you sleep in my shed?”

I took this suggestion very seriously - sheds can be very noisy and draughty but he had Alpaca’s - I knew that from the programme. As long as they didn’t spit on us, they could be cosy. Robert saw me looking tempted and said it was the other end of the village so he’d need to get us a lift. He looked longingly at the door to the Bar. The Manager said she’d give us a lift when she locked up for the night.

By this time it was 6.40pm and Sara had already been pacing about clutching her tent waiting for him to get thirsty. She’d carried that tent a long way and it was me who’d said I wanted to sleep in a tent with my dog. The main point was that we’d established a place and permission. I had to let the tempting shed offer go. There was very little daylight left so she set off saying it would take 10 minutes to put the tent up.

It was pitch black and an hour later before she finally appeared back.

She said she’d been stomping purposefully down the lane and passed a man walking the other way with his dog. Shortly after, she heard a yell and looked back. The man had tied up his dog and was running towards her at a sprint. This was far worse than the man in the car grinning at her. She hugged the tent for protection and froze.

“What’re you doing?” he yelled.

“I was just going to put my tent up.” she squealed

“Oh thank god. I thought you were going to kill yourself. I had to come back - I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

Having established that she was of reasonably sound mind, he then advised her to walk further along under the line, to another tunnel that was much drier. So she went under the tunnel and climbed into the field. Which was full of cows and as she’s very scared of cows she clambered back over onto the embankment where she side stepped her way to the other tunnel. Where the wind was howling straight through, so she went back along the awkward slope to the other tunnel where the aforementioned ‘grumpy’ farmer was now loading up some silage on his tractor.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a less than friendly tone. She told him, he checked where she was from, established that they had a mutual connection in Lochaber - as one does in the Highlands - took the tent off her so she could climb the fence, and left her to take the 10 minutes that it takes to put up her tent.

Before we’d left home, we’d had a chat with Jim Cooper from the Rescue Team and alerted him to our plans. He’s got a bit of time just now before supplying safety cover to SAS TV programmes and other such ‘cliff hanging’ types of stuff. I just wasn’t sure at which point he’d consider it reasonable to ask him to come and find Sara. I had mentioned the possible use of a flare in an emergency, but he’d kinda ruled that out as unlikely to be helpful.

The Manager had meanwhile assured me that we were welcome to stay in her Grill until she closed up at 9pm. There were a few other folks in - mostly local, and a couple who were living here for the tree planting season. The young woman was beautiful with the thickest, longest dreadlocks I’ve seen, and the man had little tattoo’s across his face. And of course there was Robert and his pals in the bar. I could probably rustle up a search party without resorting to Jim.

Sara reappeared, breathless and laughing about the kindness of the anxious dog walker. We gathered up our things and the dog and headed out into the thankfully not yet raining night. Down the lane, under the tunnel and there was the tent in the torch light on a perfect wee spot of grass just big enough. It was a bit of a wade through the tunnel, but it was really sheltered. It was a haven.


Apart from the night time trains that shot past us like missiles, lit up the tent and sounded as if they were going to run us over. The first morning train was 6.30am. Then the ‘grumpy’ farmer arrived at 7am splashing through the puddle in his truck and fired up his tractor. He did say good morning, which was nice of him.

Neither of us had slept much, but it was good not to be walking, we weren’t cold and we weren’t wet. It HAD rained all night, and the dog had a slight problem with a windy bottom, but on the whole, I could say I’ve had worse sleeps in hotel rooms. I COULD say that. It was time to get up and see where we were in the cold light of day.

What more could one ask for?

Sara’s daughter Maisie works on the Caledonian Sleeper which has to skip the West Highland Line just now as there’s maintenance on the line. So they get off at Kingussie and take the bus to Fort William. Maisie WAS on this train and said that if she’d known, she’d have tossed a couple of breakfasts out the window for us.

But we had the lovely Newtonmore Grill, thankfully, so no need.

The Romanian woman who was manning the fryers, greeted us with “coffee? Tea?” rather than a good morning.

“Sausages? Eggs?”

I’ll have toast says I, and I’ll have porridge, says Sara/

“Porrich????” The lady looked a little contemptuous. This is clearly not the breakfast of Truckers.

Sara looked embarrassed and said she’d just have toast.

“It’s ok. I make you porrich. I have time.” She made her the biggest bowl of porridge possible and poor Sara trudged her way through it to show her gratitude.

The tree planters arrived for a pre-planting breakfast. Bowls of lasagne and chips were delivered to their table without the slightest hesitation or raised eyebrow. Much admiration for the dreadlocks ensued. Then a saucer with a cut up sausage arrived at our table.

“Forrr dog.” She stated.

Over toast, porrich and sausage, we decided I wasn’t fit for the back country walk to Kingussie but could probably manage the pedestrian path that goes direct. We’d already arranged with Lindy-Lou that we could leave our rucksacks in her wood shed in Kingussie and then attempt to walk to Loch Insh thus enlightened.

We said our goodbyes to the loveliness of Newtonmore and it’s Grill - forget the tourist hotels - this is the place.

We abandoned our bags, grabbed a coffee in Kingussie and booked our lift from Spook slightly early. We’d walk along the back road and he could scoop us up before Loch Insh. After contacting Linda about our bags, she’d invited us to enjoy an alternative option and I’d made a date at the lochside and had decided to knock Kincraig on the head.

We walked 7 miles instead of 15, for which I was very very thankful.

Ruthven Barracks. It was all delightfully rural compared with the wilds of yesterday.

Less than 2 hours after calling for back up, Spook delivered us here…….

I felt I’d made my point. I’m 60. I have aches and pains I didn’t have when I was 59. I needed an intervention. And Lindy-Lou in the shape of her mobile sauna at Loch Insh happened to be right place, right time. Dip in the loch is highly recommended but thankfully not obligatory. Enough!!

Sara is all pink because she went for the full swim, and I am white because I refused to, I have next to no clothes on, it’s bloody cold and I want to be inside.

Where it is fantastically cosy and restorative and from where I can watch my Daniel Craig emerge from the loch….

This was the spa break we didn’t go on. This was a little piece of perfection.

It was good of Daniel to join us.

Our Guru of Sauna Cairngorms and Yoga Cairngorms - Linda - could tell us that the optimum experience is to heat up first, and then plunge into the loch. Repeat 3 times for the full healing experience as the pores are open and the goodness reaches the very core of you. I remained only marginally healed but very very contented.

To book this you can contact Linda at www.yogacairngorms.com

To book a visit to Roberts croft and walk with the alpaca’s and donkey contact his wife, Jenni at www.cairngormalpacas.co.uk And check them out at BBC’s This Farming Life. I love that programme!!!

59 to 60. Expedition Style.

“What do you fancy doing for your birthday?” asked Sara a few weeks ago.

Go for a long walk with my dog, and stay in a tent. Maybe a section or two of the East Highland Way. I’d given my mum the book in 2013 as she’d always talked about doing it. She was never going to manage much of it after her stroke, but I’d thought we could walk wee sections of it at some point. We never did.

It starts in Fort William and joins with the Strathspey Way to get you to Aviemore. Sara said she’d LOVE to do that, so I put the planning in her hands…..she loves a bit of planning.

So what’s the plan - I eventually asked.

Faegour to Newtonmore and then 2nd day walk to Kincraig , have birthday lunch with Spook who’s job it would be to pick us up. Her husband, Kevin would take us to the start. I love being looked after.

Eventually I got round to asking her how long the 2 days would be. 15 miles each, she said.

Ah…..

I did some training. I got up to 5 miles with the dog. Then I didn’t want to wear me or the dog out before the big trip, so we tailed off - so to speak.

Think the dog wants to go home.

Two days before it had been 16 degrees, warm and sunny. Then a storm blew up one day before, and lingered around somewhat. Kevin took delight in informing us every time his temperature gauge on the car dropped. 3.5 he said with glee.

There was to be some wind, some rain, some sleet and some sunshine. We focussed on the positive. And it was only about 5 miles to our coffee stop - Laggan Stores. What a delight. Highly recommended. Hustle and bustle on a Friday approaching lunchtime and a warm welcome to wet walkers and a wet dog.

Truly 10 out of 10 for quality and welcome. There was a bit of a sleety downpour while we were here but that passed and we stepped out into the dry with only 9.1 miles to go. Nae bother. We left the main thorougfare to wander through the settlement of Balgowan. You drive past this everytime you go to Aviemore but don’t realise what a gorgeous wee sleepy hamlet it is. We met Pam and her dog Lennie in the nick of time as she walked with us and could show us the right direction to take in the woods where the path diverged and then the faint track out onto the moor. There are no signs, you have to use your book and your navigational skills (ha ha ha ha.) She also said that if it got too wild, to come back to her house for tea or gin.

There had been one or two people who had assumed we wouldn’t go due to the forecast. But there weren’t trees to fall on us if it was too windy, the snow forecast was only for sleet, there was going to be moments of life saving sunshine and by a happy coincidence, the wind was at our backs.

You can choose a summer month, and still have heavy rain - and midgies. So a little sleet and no midgies - that was ok.

One minute you’re on the main road from Fort William to Aviemore and the next minute you’re somewhere you’ve never seen before and probably won’t see again.

It is vital to maintain a positive attitude at all times.

And you will be rewarded with shelter in the form of the Stalkers Cottage at Dalnashallag.

It’s a place for shelter, but the wind was rattling the roof and the potential for wild imaginings plentiful…the tent was still a better option.

This was once a place of at least 18 dwellings before the Highland Clearances in the mid 1800’s.

We needed to cross the river and make our way down this glen to Newtonmore. The book said that we had to cross a shallow boulder crossing which would comprise of 4 streams merging. He noted that it was ‘fairly easy’ and would ‘provide a fun navigational challenge for the less agile.” I’m not sure how many times I called him a patronizing git, but there were now 6 crossings since he wrote this book in 1988, my dog and I were traumatised, our feet and legs were soaking.

This was the 6th. At least the sun was shining.

Although that did change soon after.

Not once did I worry that Sara would be annoyed with me for choosing this as my birthday treat. The more challenging and diverse - the more she revelled in it.

Eventually we reached a proper road rather than a riverside track and Sara nearly recognised the hill that she has run many times at the Newtonmore Games. It was behind her whilst she was claiming that she thought she could see it away ahead. This is the woman I entrusted my life to….. the photo above is the hill race hill. Thankfully it was not the one in the distance.

When we left the Stalkers cottage we had under 5 miles to go. By the time we got to this road we had travelled about 3 miles. This road was the longest 2 miles I’ve endured!! Suddenly the distraction of ‘fun boulder fields’ was better than marching along tarmac.

Our target destination was the Newtonmore Grill. Opening hours of 7am to 10pm had a lot of appeal. We didn’t know where we’d camp but as close to it as possible was beginning to look like all I could cope with. Knees, ankles, thighs, calves, shins - none of them wanted to walk a step further than necessary. It was approaching 5pm. Plenty of time to eat, recover and decide if we bale out to a hostel, or use the tent that Sara had gone to all the hassle of carrying on her back……..Would a Spa weekend be a better way to turn 60? The night ahead would reveal the answer……it wasn’t over yet……

Whisky Galorious Max-Innes

After sitting forlornly in the Craigs Graveyard in Fort William, waiting for the rain to fill my waterpot, (because I have been painting graveyards recently and had forgotten to bring any water,) it was ironic that the rain came in the following days and everyone’s water pot runneth-ed over. Roads closed from landslides, lochs, rivers and puddles swelled to rarely seen proportions and Lochy Bridge looked like it could break into pieces by the force of the torrent. It rained and rained and rained. Big solid drops of serious rain with no let-up.

There was little choice but to join the Lochaber Whisky Club. I’d been meaning to do this ever since enjoying a visit to the Whisky Shop in town when I was looking for a special whisky to buy an Irishman on his wedding. Even if you don’t buy a whisky, the pleasure of Max Stephen’s knowledge and enthusiasm is catching. I joined his mailing list but lacked the pre Christmas energy to make the December tasting night and hadn’t recovered it for the January one. February and a dearth of dry graveyards to paint in finally pushed me out the door for some inspirational company.. I enjoy my reclusive anti-social life at home whilst also genuinely enjoying the company of fleeting conversations and experiences when out and about. This was a wee piece of perfection on many levels. (With a slight sting in the tail.)

Spook and I went with our neighbour Rou. The Black Isle Brewery is a great venue for a warm up drink and a pizza before the event. The upstairs venue opens at 7.30 with first dram poured at 8. By the time we wandered upstairs we were almost last in and the room was full of familiar faces without necessarily knowing everyone, and there was a buzz. Max and his colleague Innes Mackintosh, greeted us at the top of the stairs and explained how it worked. It’s £20 on the door, and you get a glass, a piece of paper and a pencil. Then you sit at the long, shared tables and wait for the drams to be poured. Either Max or Innes talked about the individual whisky whilst the other went round and poured it. I loved this so much more than when you arrive and all the drams are pre poured, set up in front of you. There was a lot of people to get round for one man pouring, and yet it added to the growing excitement that came with each new dram. There were a lot of father/son combinations in attendance (possibly mother/daughter one’s too, but I didn’t note them,) and we sat with one such combination. You immediately have the whisky in common so converstation flows naturally and at our table it was light-hearted and no one had to pretend they knew anything about it other than that we had a mutual liking for the stuff. I particularly admired the nurturing father who swapped glasses when his son was out of the room, and took the larger dram to protect his son from potential ill health the next day (if only I’d had such a caring father in attendance.) Max and Innes moved around the room, sitting at a table here and there, with their own drams and joining the group chats. They are wonderful hosts and their age is such a part of their success. They both went off to University and after completing their degrees (and more) chose to come back to Lochaber and share their love of whisky - perhaps not in the way that I have shared the whisky love with many Highlanders over the years, but in a more thoughtful and informed manner where the precious liquid is treated with great respect - with a twinkle of fun thrown in. This is a place of Highland Hospitality and welcome.


As one of the newest members of the Club, I felt it was important to make very careful notes of my impressions. Ever the professional, I wanted to show that I also, had the necessary respect for this golden liquid.

I think it’s worth having a wee look at the increasing strength of the drams. Whilst my notes were not particularly informed nor elaborate, they did deteriorate a little as the night when on. The writing is hard to decipher, but I was wanting to share in the conversations as well as take notes and drink the whisky and I’m a chronically bad multi-tasker. After the last dram I proudly showed my notes to my neighbouring companion, James. He looked at the last note - “And it took you 6 drams to establish the fact?” was his only comment.

I also see that there is a Glentauchers whisky stain on the last comment - so clearly not all the whisky was getting down my gullet!! And I see that I have observed that Spook is clearly “scuttling the goldies” (Still Game reference) whilst I am delicately savouring them.

The night was so friendly with everybody chatting and clearly enjoying themselves. Spooks grin got wider with every dram and we all declared we’d be back for the next event on the 7th of March…..until the next morning. With a raging thirst and thumping head, I could barely get out of bed. I was supposed to get an early lift to town to retrieve the car, but there was no way that was happening. Spook made me a cup of tea and left me lying on the sofa - groaning. He and Rou made it to work without an effort and I didn’t make it to breakfast. By 9.30am I’d made a good recovery, thank goodness and decided that the best way of a full recovery was to walk the 4.5 miles to get the car. This pleased the dog.

And gave me time to reflect upon my behaviour. I don’t wish to be unable to attend the whisky tasting nights so a new approach is required. At £20 (and it may be £40 for the next night if they introduce a £500 bottle - when else will you get to taste THAT?) it’s great value just to be part of the night. There is no requirement to take the full dram which is generously poured. I am not without discipline (and loathe a hangover which comes with a very long memory - it’s 20 years since my last one,) and I think I’d simply ask Innes and Max which is their favourite and take the full dram for those and just a wee taster for each of the others. And totally cleanse the gullet and the gut with a big glass of water between drams. Like Gordon Jackson and many others, I was possibly born 2 drams below par, (Whisky Galore reference) so 2 is all it takes for a good night, plus a wee swirly around the mouth for the rest. Perhaps my note taking will improve. As my next hangoer is not due until I’m about 80, I would like to navigate my way there, enjoying a few lovely drams on the way and I can’t think of a nicer way of doing some of that with The Lochaber Whisky Club.