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.

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!

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.