The Windmills of my Mind

The windmills of my mind…

The time and the place for Windscape
What a week. Great kids, wonderful teachers, fantastic libraries and a chance to launch my first topical kid’s adventure - WINDSCAPE.
Up in Harris and Lewis there is a real dichotomy. They’ve just voted to halt a huge wind farm that would have run down the spine of the Western Isles. Some say that it’s been a real missed opportunity, some say that it’s been a near miss. My book: an innocent adventure, has been hailed as a catalyst in the discussion. Mmm… Not sure I wanted that but, it’s good to talk. Unsure where I am on the subject, it was interesting to hear the various responses and ideas.
Some say the energy used to construct these majestic machines would never be cancelled out by the good they would do. Some say that the local community would stand to gain a great economic boost, both commissioning and decommissioning these things. Some say they scar the beautiful landscape that the many tourists come to see. Some say they disrupt wildlife and destroy the peat bogs, Scotland’s lungs. Some, like me, are simply confused, torn between the damage they may do and the horrible alternatives. Are there other viable alternatives out there? Will it be the children who read this book that are ultimately affected?

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Windscape-Sam-Wilding/dp/1907354123

A dip in the loch

The last time I went for a paddle in Loch Lomond would have been about 20 years ago. I put my toe back in this weekend. It was 23 degrees and we had our own wee private beach. We really are very lucky to live beside such a beautiful place. Even Mrs Wilding braved the chill. Wee Ruthy had great fun skiffing stones inches from my head,while Betsy, our flatcoat retriever, swished her tail and tried to disembowel me with her front paws. Part four of the Denthan series is set on Loch Echty (Loch Lomond), about 500 yards from that island in the distance. I also had my first signing of August in W H Smith's Glasgow. Even though Jordan, or Kate Price, was just along the road, stealing business away, I still sold quite a few of my books. I met Clare Wilson, a new Olida author, during the signing. Clare's book The Long Staff, is a great young adult, fantasy tale and due for release any time now. You might catch Clare at the Publishing Scotland knees-up on the 23rd, at the Edinburgh Book Festival. We plan to do a few joint workshops and events, both here and down in London. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, it's time to cook the Sunday dinner.

Aerosmith and Camper Vans

Last weekend I journeyed down to Download, near Derby, to the biggest rockfest of the year. My main remit was to keep my boys happy, but I love this kind of music too. I probably sound old fashioned but I just think, oh, no... whenever the 'stars' feel they have to swear and stuff. ACDC and Myles Kennedy didn't seem to find it necessary. You basically camp up in a field full of litter, next to some over-flowing toilets and walk 2 miles to get to the gig. Once there, you're stuck in a massive pen with 100,000 other rock fans. There's food all over the place, 4 stages that merge into one cacophony of sound if you stand at the wrong point, and no chance of finding anyone you know. This is fine, even strangely enjoyable when the sun shines, but when the heavens open, it's no joke. It remained beautiful until the last few songs in Slash's set. After that it poured. We retreated to our trusty camper van but decided to ignore our wet clothes and venture out again to see the living legends that are Aerosmith. Steve Tyler was amazing! What a voice and what a showman. Spinning like a dervish in his gold spandex, he sang his lungs out. We all went home tired, dirty, smelly but happy. (Finds of the Festival were singer with Slash - Myles Kennedy, and new band - Them Crooked Vultures. Check em out.

The Big Hoose!

After a refreshing swim, I settle down to some lunch and then walk the gardens of the place I once worked and played. Cameron House, formerly the home of Sir Patrick Telford Smollett, it is now a full-blown De Vere Hotel. It was, however, a stately home when I first ran along the grassy lawn by the family jetty. I was, well, 6 when I first stepped off the launch and joined in the Sunday school games. Mmm... 1967. It was a sunny day, like today, and the gardens were made all the more mysterious by the wailing of peacocks and the bleating of exotic geese. I got to know the Smollett's through the church, St Mungo's, and always found the local gentry personable and kind. Patrick would hail me in the supermarket, even though he did call me by my last name, whereas Mrs Smollett was more of a mystery. She was, in my opinion, like Grace Kelly in looks and seemed more distant, in a movie-star kind of way. I still see her from time to time, and she still looks beautiful. After a childhood of once a year visits, I eventually sang at their daughter's wedding. I think the song was 'By Blue Galilee', and I think the daughter's name was Gabrielle. After a few more years I became an employee of the Smollett's, working as a game-warden, shop-keeper, fairground attendant and ticket collector in the Loch Lomond Bear Park. I wandered, blinded by hay fever, through an assortment of fully-grown Himalayan, European Brown and Canadian Bears, protected only by luck and the odd clump of dirt. They were great days and I still keep in touch with the various survivors. Patrick would, from time to time, yell at me from a high turret as I lay sunbathing in the bay, bobbing in the gentle roll of Loch Lomond. "Murdoch! I don't pay you to float!" Time moved on and, after the sale of the estate, the Smolletts moved up the hill to a smaller pad. I visited the new house once, where, after several huge whiskies, I was introduced to the black piano where Irvin Berlin wrote White Christmas and where David Niven, perched on his boney elbows, recounted many an anecdote. I now swim and exercise in the building that has managed to form such a constant part of my life. And, I might add, have the odd wonderful meal. Cameron House - I salute you!

Harris Tweed

It’s a full house. Fiona at the Tarbert Library has, like the pied piper, drawn in children from every school in Harris, and this on a day when Sir Seb Coe is only a few miles away promoting the relevance of the Olympics in the Western Isles. Hosting the biggest sporting event in the world is extraordinary but I still wonder how, other than T.V., the islanders up here will get to see it. Hat’s off to Seb though for coming all the way here. The kids were totally enthralled and excited to see him. The workshop in the library goes well, and has brought children in from 20 miles or more. There's great interest in the Denthan Trilogy and the kid's questions are yet again, brill. I give the Callanish visitor centre a plug and, after expressing my thanks to the library, get back on the road towards Leverburgh and the ferry to North Uist.

Port Ness

After a wild drive to Port Ness, on the most northwesterly tip of Lewis, I arrive at the school and settle down in their new Library. The school kids are at the door to greet me and they lead me inside to give my workshop. They are fantastic and soon tell me about the real Gugas Hunters. One girl’s dad is an actual Guga Hunter and disappears for 2 weeks every year to harvest the gannets. He is only allowed back in the house after 3 showers. I ask them what the birds taste like and how they cook them. They are very salty and fishy in taste but many of the kids enthuse about them and the teacher tells how they are cooked. They are scrubbed with washing-up liquid and then boiled for an hour before being served with boiled potatoes and veg. The gannet skin has the complexion of an old tramp and the fat layer is extremely thick. Some of the class say how you have to eat the fat and the dark flesh together. The teacher isn’t too keen on the fatty parts. I eventually take the road to Callanish. It’s been 20 years since I’ve visited the stones that appear on the cover of The Magic Scales. There is a visitor centre there now, so I track down the manager and show him the cover of the first book. He loves it and sees that it will sell in the shop, so takes 6. I take some pictures of the magnificent standing stones and realise the time. Racing down the road towards Harris, the site of Windscape, my new book-to-come, I just get into the library in the nick of time.

Argie Bargie

Stratford was bathed in sun as we boarded the barge and prepared to feast. Pate, pork and pricey river properties all came and went as we sailed down the Avon through a series of slimy locks that gurgled and bubbled. It was rather decadent but you're only here once. In the heart of Shakespear's-ville the tourists were buzzing and the fizz was flowing. Promise to be good next week. Back to reality and back to the thing I love doing most of all - exploring the Western Isles, from Ullapool to Oban and quite a few points in-between.

W H Smith show the way...

Sam Wilding wooed the children from Banchory in a W H Smith writing workshop, where the kids got to design their own monsters and run with their imagination....
W H Smith is showing its colours as a very proactive store that cares about the reader, and wants to develop new talent. Sam went on to raise awareness about asthma. He spoke recently at the Scottish Parliament on the subject and pointed out that James Peck, the main character in the Denthan series, has fantastic adventures despite the affliction... The Denthan series continues to be the most tagged children's book on Amazon.co.uk.

Ted McKenna and Wee Joe

Ted McKenna - legendary drummer of the Sensational Alex Harvey Band, The Michael Schenker Group and Rory Gallacher,to name a few, and, Wee Joe - The 6 years ago, main inspiration for Wee Joe in the Denthan Series. Ted and Joe are now a little older but both made a huge mark on my creative life. I've admired the various bands where Ted has drummed and Joe is still, as my youngest son, one of my main inspirations to write. On Saturday Ted gave a drum clinic where he showed his great skill and immense wit and experience. Wee Joe, a budding drummer, pianist and guitarist, loved every minute of it. Thanks, Ted. A huge thanks must be given to Jim Carr, another huge influence on my life, and to Johnny Watson, drummer of Littlehed, my rock outlet these days. It was great to meet so many other friends on the day. Great stuff!

Auchinairn Primary School - Recent Visit

What a great school! Auchinairn Primary children explored their own writing talents through a brilliant workshop where the children created their own characters and wrote out their own story board. Split into groups, they worked furiously under the guidance of Kirsty Rawley, a truly inspiring teacher, and myself to produce some fantastic work. They also used mind maps and passages from the Denthan series to give them a greater insight into their own work and really amazed me with their slick cartoon scenes and inventive plots. Great Work all round guys!

Sam Wilding meets Gordon Brown at Scottish Parliament

Gordon Brown promotes new fantasy book
Gordon Brown, of Asthma UK Scotland, met with children’s author, Sam Wilding, at the Scottish Parliament today. They attended a cross-party discussion group on asthma action plans and then took the opportunity to launch book three in the Denthan series to tie in with World Asthma Day. Sam Wilding’s fantasy trilogy about a boy hero with asthma has been a great success and Sam’s work in libraries and schools across Scotland has boosted creative writing among children and raised awareness of the affliction. Over 300,000 people have asthma in Scotland and awareness is key to saving lives and preventing primary care patients ending up in secondary care.
Sam had pictures taken with Emma Graham, Asthma UK Scotland’s Youth Engagement Officer.
If an asthma sufferer has an ‘asthma action plan’ they are 4 times less likely to have a serious attack. For more detail visit www.asthma.org.uk/scotland
For details on Sam’s fantasy adventure books for children from 7 – 87, visit Sam’s website at http://www.sam-wilding.com/

Up Up and Away?

Up Up and Away?
Apparently not, if you want to fly anywhere… This is as close as I came to flying during my Easter break, thank goodness. Unfortunately the camera missed my forward double twist roll. Ah well… Wee Joe has a nice pose as does Ruthy. This is Brora just before the ash from Iceland started to clog up my asthmatic lungs. No kidding, I could hardly breathe for days. We had a little cottage in Helmsdale where the chippy, La Mirage, is to die for and the beach, apart from the odd decapitated seal, was a dream. What would do that to a seal? A very fussy Killer Whale? I don’t know. But guess what? I’d never ever seen a newt before and, sitting on the sand minding my own business, one crawled out of the seaweed and walked right towards me. Is it a sign? Wee Joe found some Ammonite fossils and the girls had a good old moan about the dead things. For Pete’s sake, it’s nature… Bought some lovely pork and apple burgers and had a barbecue but still they moaned…

A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE...

It started off so well… A brisk, Easter Day walk round Ardmore Point with Betsy, was the idea. There was sun, a full complement of Wildings (7, including Betsy – the dog)and a cold to shake off. I went ahead with my eldest daughter, Emma, only to discover that we’d actually slipped into another dimension and ended up in the forbidden marshes of Middle Earth. Damn, I hate it when that happens. It was nice, in a bleak, ‘dont follow the lights or jump in a pond with dead people’ kind-of-way but I knew it was all going to go pear-shaped and I was right. A sudden scream from Emma saw her new, expensive trainer disappear beneath the deep mud she thought was sand. Bare-footed, she leapt about, said some rude words and stomped off to the car. And then there were 6. We pressed on, had a giant hogweed fight and soon found the going sunny and very pleasant. Not for long, though. The wide hawthron-lined path soon merged into a tiny strip of mud surrounded by an impenetrable wall of gorse. Before long my youngest was crying and we’d become hopelessly trapped between the Sleeping Beauty-like wall of thorns and an endless Hound of the Baskervilles-type marsh. Everyone started blaming everyone else, mostly me, until we had no option but to get very wet. Besty was in heaven. She splashed and yelped and wagged her sodden tail and shook herself vigorously at every opportunity, usually at the very point where balance and a clear mind were imperative. Ryan, my eldest boy performed a Herculean leap, only to smack straight into a 9 foot gorse bush and fall back, slowly, into the mire. We all guffawed and then saw his expression and bit our lips. Soon, well after about an hour, we escaped the terrors of Ardmore and hobbled back to the car and my waiting daughter, Princess Huff. Well, we all have nasty cuts which are copiously covered in foul-smelling mud, but hey… That’s what family walks are all about.

Return to Denthan released in 7 days

At last, The third and final book in the Denthan Series is to be released any day now.
Find out how the whole story ends and perhaps begins...

Rock and Roll

Dumbarton Castle, the prison of William Wallace and the home of the Britons for many years before that, was resplendent today. There are many legends about the place, one of which is that the Ark of the Covenant lies hidden in the rock. I’ll get a closer look tonight as we attend the Dumbarton F.C. grounds for a night of fun and fund-raising.

Sam Wilding and Kate Humble

Kate Humble and Sam Wilding
Yes, it was a long drive south to listen to vets and country folk enthuse over a new cure for sheep, but there was a fun night and a chance encounter. Carden Park is in the beautiful Chester countryside where, not far away, Kate Humble was filming ‘Lambing Live’. Manged a quick chat and a look at some of the local sheep. Baaaa! Spent much of the day signing books and chasing editors. Book 3 of the Denthan series is in its final throes. The sad thing was, I missed my Emma’s birthday, so I organised a trip in a hot air balloon for her.

Hawick - Young at Heart

It all started with a the search for the historic Hawick Library building, built by Andrew Carnaigie. Parking sorted, I got myself ready and chatted to event organiser, Cameron McAulay. As usual the kids were fantastic and asked some brilliant questions. They also came up with some great ideas and suggestions for their own stories. – “I just wanted to thank you again for your very insightful and enthusiastic workshop with the pupils from Wilton Primary School this morning. I am positive all the kids went away with a whetted appetite for reading but even more so for writing. The drawing exercise made them feel part of the book writing process (beware BEWUL) and it helped stoke their imagination. I won’t hesitate to recommend your name for future visits and I wish you luck with the publication of the final book in the Denthan Series.”- C McAulay – Young People’s Services. Couldn't ask for much more than that. It’s great to get positive feedback, and when people ask “what age group is the Denthan series aimed at?”, I always say 9-90. Today I got another pile of lovely letters and drawings from Stoneywood Primary School in Aberdeen – Part of the Arts Across Learning Festival). I also received a fantastic email regarding a senior citizen that read – “Hi Sam, I thought you might like to know that my 85 year-old Mum has just finished THE MAGIC SCALES and has sat engrossed for 48 hours. She has just asked me to order vols. 2 and 3 on Amazon. My daughter and I heard you talk & read at the canal centre in Linlithgow (I was also there as an author.) My daughter then bought me a copy of THE MAGIC SCALES for Xmas but Mum has got around to reading it before me.” - Linda Gillard. http://www.lindagillard.co.uk/
All fantastic stuff.
See the website for the children’s drawings, letters and stories.
http://www.sam-wilding.com/
Oh! Finally I finally finished Return to Denthan…

Off I go - NOT!

Fear soon replaces excitement as I skid off the A9 and almost hit the barrier on the way into Kingussie. EEK! The snow is falling in big clumps and my bed is a few more hills further on.

However...

One and a half feet of snow fall during the night and I am completely covered in. No chance of driving. My car looks like a big Ice Lolly.

Some Library Visits

Well, I'm a bit rusty but I'm still looking forward to some really great library visits with the help of Christine and the Scottish Book Trust. Arriving at at the library, I get organised and greet some 50 kids plus teachers and librarians. The Imagination session goes well with an array of fantastic questions at the end. Their drawings were tops and they behaved so well. You get the odd wee chestnut like - How much to do you make? What age are you? etc. These were fantastic children who seemed motivated and were very talented. I then speed on to the next spot where the children are equally enthused. I am particularly blown away by a boy called Lewis, who cannot see at all, but is totally part of the whole event, answering questions and showing his sense of fun and excitement during the reading section. I cover my usual Asthma Awareness section and am completely surprised to receive a gift from the Hecklegirth Primary School class. Lewis has written out the first few pages of The Magic Scales in Braille and the rest of the class have made an artistic collage of the front cover. I am totally lost for words. Sign posters etc and make my scary way north.

The Dumpling and the Frozen Loch

Okay, so it's now well and truly the weekend. I've not done the chores I've promised yet, and I need to spend some time outside. It's a crisp,sunny,fresh, afternoon and I've already finished 2 paper rounds and made everyone breakfast. I suggest a walk in the air, but soon realise we'll have to drive to get anywhere a bit exciting. A few seconds after setting off I notice that I only have 20 miles in the tank so this comfortably restricts our movements. 'The Dumpling!' I say.

"Ohh, daaaaad! Not agaaaiiin!"

"Yes, again," I confirm, and we are on our way.

The Dumpling, a 200ft lump of granite stranded a few yards from Gartocharn (pronounced - Garto-Harn), is the perfect viewpoint to see the partially frozen Loch Lomond. Now, the last time Loch Lomond was frozen over, my Mum did this Viking, survival of the fittest thing and pushed me, in my pram, like a lump of blue hone granite, towards the middle of the loch, and presumably the thin bits. I would either be consigned to the depths or... Well. I'm still here, so I presume the gods looked on me favourably. By the way, the view from the Dumpling is 'to die for'.

After trudging up with Betsy, our flat-coat retriever, nutter, dog; Joe, Emma, Justine, Ruthy and the Tiny, we all decide to go for a swim etc at Cameron House.

First changed, Ruthy and myself venture out to take some rare pics of the Frozen Loch. It's fairly solid, all the way from the Cameron House jetty to Balloch Park,

Go home, listless and ready for some rocket, sun dried tomatoes and Parmesan salad.

Look in the hall mirror - still fat - oh yes - the 9 ferrero rocher might have something to do with that, but I was so hungry after all that swimming and stuff.

Playing Journey and walking in the fresh air

A gig. A concert, 'a booking for musicians', as the dictionary puts it. I hadn't picked the guitar up in earnest for over two months and I think it showed. We arrived at the venue, small and more pub-like than club-like. Everyone was very friendly and we were offered chicken curry on arrival. I always find it's better to sing on an empty stomach, though. It avoids the odd burp invading the lyrics at a crucial point. The audience ranged from 20 to 78 and all seemed to enjoy our eclectic mix of everything from Journey's - Don't Stop Believin' to Tony Bennett's - 'San Francisco'. It was 1am when we finished and almost 2am before I locked the car and crawled into the spare room. It was good to catch up with Craig, the drummer, and go over the children one by one, discussing their teenage messiness, deciding whether or not we were Hypocrites and stuff like that... my son, Ryan, went for his interview with the Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. I hope he gets a place, he practices guitar 5 hours a day and deserves a break.

Saturday went by in a blur and now it's Sunday, mid-day. The sun has cut a neat hole in the powder-blue sky and it's time for a walk.

The Brits 2010

Flew down to London and got a taxi to the Tower Bridge Hotel. After a multimedia presentation, I sauntered over the bridge and explored. There was a champagne reception in the hotel before we set off on a river boat to the Brit Awards. More Champs and piano music, we sailed past Westminster and on to the venue. It was very strange to meeting people like Lindsay Lohan and various soap stars etc. George Best's son, Calum, was a delight. The event itself was well run and the food exceptionally good. Mingled until a the small hours and then returned to the hotel by taxi to sleep for a few hours before getting up at 6am to participate in 'The Apprentice'. Sold flowers in Portobello Rd and negotiated prices in Selfridges and Harrods etc. Returned to then get kitted out again and go out in stretch limo to a secret location for another dinner. Now typing this, having slipped away to bed and the much more normal prospect of spreadsheets, emails and doing a few edits. Back home to Glasgow tomorrow, thank God.

A Meal Out

Okay, so it's almost Valentines Day and I've been away all week. Time for some major sucking up. So, I plump for Martin Wishart's restaurant at the Cameron House Hotel, Loch Lomond. £25 each for lunch. The menu looks good and we settle down in our predesignated seat, well away from the reserved, but very empty seats beside the windows that look over the loch. A slight niggle forms in my belly. We then pick from the menu and are given the bread rolls, but without any explanation as to what they might be. Okay, it's nice to play a bit of a guessing game sometimes so that's not the end of the world. I pick the langoustine risotto and the cod in Pu lentil. The current Mrs. Wilding went for the comfit of duck. The meal is pretty nice, though my cod was a bit cool. We get served someone else's Sancerre and confess. The restaurant is well decorated but I feel I should be talking about the food not the wallpaper. I reckon Michael Caine's in Bath Street is still tops and that the real Martin Wisharts in Leith is still well ahead of this experience. It was all topped off at the end by a stand-up telling off by a customer, who complained about the discretionary service charge being described as compulsory. Quite right too. I have to say the the Matradee was pretty good all in all.

Just in case you are a bit hungry - here's a wee recipe for - Cholesterol Lowering Garlic and Spinach Soup



1. Peel 6 cloves of garlic - place them in some melted Benecol.

2. Add salt and the bunch of spinach

3. Simmer until wilted

4. Sprinkle a chicken stock cube over the top

5. Add water and milk, a cup each



Simmer



Blend


Reheat and serve with crusty bread.

Going Home

Hardly on the same level, but I now know how Palin feels when a ferry doesn't turn up or a plane is missed. My plans are foiled and I will have to travel home via Uig and Eilean Donan castle. After the full Monty at the Polochar Inn, I say my goodbyes and head north to Lochmaddy. I pass Whooper Swans upturned in still, frozen lochens. Some of them look as if they've been frozen in the act of tipping; their bums jutting from the surface like fluffy icebergs. It's like a summer's day at Lochmaddy. The sea is like glass and I wander round the ferry terminal making sure that I have at least some of my descriptions right in the book I'm working on. I decide to keep my imaginary bus stop in place rather than plump for reality.

On the ferry, I sunbathe on deck as we pull out of the harbour. It's so nice that I wonder about sun tan lotion etc. A foriegn couple have a good laugh at my expense as I try, in vain, to balance my thin camera on my bag and push the timer at the same time. They eventually show some mercy, stepping in to take my pic. I write a few chapters on the smooth crossing and wiz off the boat at Uig. Between Uig and Portree I catch a glimpse of some really massive wind turbines on the horizon. This is why I'm writing the new book. It's a stark reminder of the duality, the conflict, the good and the bad. They cut an ugly swathe on the mountain-top but, on the other hand, there's something imposing and majestic in the way they move.

Moving down the west coast via Fort William and Glen Coe, I eventually chat to my old-time bass player Jim as I journey down the side of Loch Lomond. Home is only a few miles away now. I've missed the family, Betsy and all.

A Sign of the Times

Uist is an idyllic place but I found out that it is, sadly, no different from the rest of the world in many respects. It has wonderful beaches, a thriving community but, alas, some problems with the odd drug user and there has certainly been the occasional barney between neighbours and even kin. Houses lie empty, 'in dispute'. No one knows for certain who owns them. Surely this is all normal. Where there is human activity there is sure to be human failings. I guess that's where religion and telly come into play. Moral doctrine and escapism seem to go hand in hand here. Anyway... The Western Isles are still a million times more peaceful and beautiful than most places I've been to in my life. It's so nice that I even consider becoming an 'incomer' and look more closely at a few of the empty houses. Everyone I've met: at the libraries, schools and hotels have, without exception, been interesting and extremely friendly.

On a walk along the beach I see a man spreading heaps of seaweed over the grass behind the dunes. I ask him what he is doing. He explains that the seaweed, shoveled out in 20ft x 80ft patches, melts into the soil. After 2 months, or so, they rotovate the area and plant potatoes. A very old practice, I'm told. I am also given the 'ins and outs' of cutting peat. Nowadays, they tend to cut it on a slope, up a hill etc to avoid flooding. They store it, stacked in a breezy spot, so that it can dry into black, brittle blocks; the best for burning.

After my 5th walk along the beach and back, I settle down to an excellent anti-pasta salad, followed by a plate of humongous scallops and Stornoway back pudding. I give in to the cook, Ian's, pudding list and submit to his homemade cheese cake and lemon ice-cream. Gosh, I really need to get back to more edits and more writing. On Uist, it's too easy to relax. Bad news, however, spoils my coffee. There's no space on the Uist to Oban ferry. An M.P. has passed away and the funeral takes precedence. Fair enough. There are more important things... This means that I will have to go back home the long way, via Skye. Oh, well, never mind. It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

The Uist Wolf

After a day of more calls and more typing I stride out across the busy Uist road and stumble onto the beach. It stretches, unbroken, for 22 miles. But I plump for 2 of those miles, deciding that I don't want to overdo it. I am now free on a deserted beach with my binoculars swinging beneath my chins. Scanning for otters, I see instead a vast array of seabirds:- Redshanks, Turnstones, Knots, Oyster catchers, the yellow-billed Whooper Swan, the scatty Ringed Plover. They dart this way and that, scattering before me only to alight a few yards further on. A highpoint is spotting a snipe, which zigzags away across a boggy field, it's flight pattern designed to evade any troublesome bullet with ease. I disturb the same heron at least four times and get a very disgruntled 'Squaack!" Wigeon and Tufted Duck patter across a frozen lochen and Rock Pipits flutter up into the air for a second only to disappear again, instantly resuming invisibility a few feet from my position. Then I hear it... A far-off bark. The sound makes my blood freeze and I hesitate. Should I carry on or divert back to the beach? The barking intensifies and I catch a glimpse of the beast. Is it truly of this Earth? It thunders towards me and then stops dead, its jaws dripping long strands of drool. It begins to circle me as I back away and head for the beach. I can always dive into the waves as a last resort, swim, madly, for Barra. It follows me, a deep growl emanating from its bulky frame. I fumble for some trinket, some scrap of chocolate or steak in my pockets. All I find is a chewit wrapper, but this is better than nothing. Carefully, I lay it at my feet and back away. The great wolf of a beast runs at me but then stops... It sniffs my offering giving me the chance I need to bolt. I hear its thundering paws hammering into the headland behind me... The Uist Wolf is upon me! MUMMY!

Stornoway to Benbecula

Caught up on the laptop until about 9.30am. Why is it that a single nudge or bump can fire whatever you’ve been working on, for half the morning, into oblivion? I struggle downstairs with my gubbins and get off to work. On my lunch break, I meet a lovely lady called Kathleen at the Stornoway Library. She makes me coffee and we chat about the book I’m working on just now (wind farms, Harris and adventures etc) and then the Denthan series. We’re both keen to work with the schools in and around Lewis and Harris in the spring. Kathleen even suggests a book launch here in Stornoway Library for the new book that I'm researching on this trip. The Library has been newly renovated and is looking great. I move over the road to the bookshop and have a quick chat before trudging on. With ferry times front of mind, I drive down towards Tarbert sadly missing out the ring of stones at Callanish. Nine of these stones feature on the cover of the Magic Scales and have been a big part of my life for the last 2 years. I pass Ardvourlie Castle, where I spent many a happy day in the nineties. The place was bought for a pittance back in the late eighties by a Maths teacher from London and renovated with great care and love to its present state. Mr Martin, the owner when I knew the place, was a tremendous cook. The guy was a genius. He used to make old-fashioned dishes like rose petal crème brûlée and duck basted in orange and brandy. He even got up a 4 am to make the bread for breakfast. The linen was so well starched on the beds that, while attempting to pull the covers up round my neck one night, I lost my grip and whacked myself full force in the eye. With hazy memories of eagles, black eyes and otters, I push on for Tarbet. There's a bit of time before the ferry so I do some work and then pop into Library and meet Fiona. Again she is very welcoming and we hatch a few ideas. I leave a couple of Asthma UK posters and race down south to Leverburgh. On the way, in between unspoiled beaches and rugged headlands, I do and interview with a reporter,by phone, about book 3 of the Denthan series. I also chat with Gordon Brown; no, not that one, the one that’s in charge of PR for the Scottish branch of Asthma UK. We talk about possible festival appearances and a national newspaper interview. I reach Leverburgh and, quite famished, wander across to the Butty Bus that's parked up on the harbour. What a clean, well run outfit. I eat a marvellous beef burger and look out over the Sound of Harris. I talk to the owner, who is originally from Nottingham, about abandoned whaling stations and current house prices. Find out that the property prices are higher in Harris than they are in Lewis. The wee ferry arrives and I climb up into the crow’s nest to view the scene. Excitedly, I rush out into the elements to view a school of whales, which actually turn out to be a couple of rocks with a few fin-like cormorants in place. They seem to be playing a big practical joke on naive twitchers like me. I reach Berneray and then race south again to visit the local vets for more background on local farming practices. In the dark I attempt to find my hotel and have to phone a friend. The hotel sits, I presume, on a lovely beach. It’s pitch black. I can’t see. The food and the welcome at the Polochar Inn are second to none. Spend some time answering emails etc and eventually nod off… I said nod off…

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Loch Lomond to Stornoway

500 miles, it said. The Tom Tom that is. And the Tom Tom never lies, much. Every time I use the thing I flip back to Paris 2004 and remember the point where it took me onto an eight-laned roundabout of death. I switched it off and had to admit that Mum Mum had been right.
Anyway, after my attempt at exercise, 47 zig-zag lengths of a granny infested pool, I get into the car and set off. A snow-capped Ben Lomond shines like beacon against the dishcloth sky, reminding me of Kilimanjaro. I know ‘the Ben, as we locals call it, is only 3000 feet or so, not 19,000, but it looks so volcanic and threatening. After passing six dead Roe Deer it's eventually a relief to see three does grazing in the birches a few miles later. I have grizzly thoughts of a programme like ‘Bear Grills’ or whatever it’s called, and wonder if I could actually cook up a decent bit of venison from the unwanted carcasses that lay at the side of the road. Mmm… Maybe not. Onward I drive until I re-diesel (I like new words) at the Green Welly, where I discovered the Best Loo of 2010. It had a wee certificate and everything. I thought there was probably quite a bit of 2010 to go but was impressed none-the-less. Off again, until I reach the towering mountains of Glen Coe, my wife’s favourite spot. She always tells us that she wants her ashes scattered on the peeks. We nod, of course, but wonder how we might do this legally and without getting killed in the process. On through Fort William and past the red and white fish restaurant that serves succulent Skate wings in garlic butter, then over the Great Glen towards Loch Ness. It’s not funny, but I can only imagine that glancing every three seconds at the grey ripples on the loch for a give-away hump or two has been the cause of many an accident on this stretch. Through ‘Inversnecky’ as the locals call it and over the Beauly Firth via the Kessock bridge. Over the bridge, I dangerously scan the skies for Red Kites, always a good spot to see them. I reach the Glascarnoch Dam where the waters are frozen over and wonder if this is where they filmed 'The Dam Busters'. I give a full volume rendition of the theme tune - 'Da da ra da da...' etc and speed on to Ullapool. In the ten minutes I have before the ferry, I visit the Ullapool Bookshop, a beautiful shop with an excellent Children’s dept. I speak with the owner who and gives me some details on the Ullapool book festival, contacts etc. Then I see it… The Clansman. The CalMac ferry is on its last run before a re-fit in Liverpool. Halfway over I eat some lentil soup to calm the tummy and manage a conference call. First off the boat at Stornoway, I immediately get lost and end up in a housing estate. After a few adjustments, I reach the hotel only to realise that I played here in a rock band called Neetah Cheetah 20 years earlier. Those were good days…
In my compact room I decide that you could only swing a cat if it were a very small one, say a kitten or one of those bald ones from Egypt. Ah well, some edits on book 3 of the Denthan series are done around 1am and I settle down for the night.

Ps – Do not swing cats, it is very, very naughty!