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.
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!
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