Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The day after the successful boat-putting-in, we say goodbye to Eilidh, who is off to Ice-
land on a school trip. (Actually I said goodbye the night before because she was getting
the bus from the school at 6 a.m. or something awful like that and after beer, wine and
whisky, even taken in relatively modest quantities, six in the morning seemed a bit bey-
ond the call of duty for groggy farewells).
Les and Aileen are such brilliant hosts, and so used to putting up their many friends,
they keep a visitors' book. This is generally just an excuse for drunken ramblings, out-
right lies, boasts about pool, golf, card and other scores, hopeless attempts at contempor-
ary humour and unspecified incomprehensible gibberish, interspersed, very occasionally,
with genuine appreciations for the fine hospitality received (usually from people who
don't stay there very often and so don't understand that the visitors' book is really sup-
posed to be for drunken ramblings, outright lies, etc.).
Given that writing is my profession, it's a never-ending source of worry for me that
my contributions to this ongoing round-robin work are rarely amongst the funniest, and
true to form I do my cause no good on this occasion, leaving a comment about Eilidh
going to Iceland and failing to come back with the twelve-pack of frozen beefburgers I'd
requested. In reality I ask her to bring back a handful of black volcanic sand, and, bless
her, a week later, she does.
Sunday we spend down the loch in the boat under the still unseasonable warmth of a
cloudless sky, exploring some of the land down by Glenaladale then heading for the far
side of the loch and threading the boat between some of the tiny islands just off the south-
east shore, reconnoitring at a putter then belting through at full speed, just for the hell of
it. I could tell you exactly where it was but it's four hard-to-pronounce Gaelic words in a
row and frankly it's in none of our interests for me even to try. At Glenaladale, despite the
fact I am 49 and Les very nearly is - Les rarely allows an opportunity to pass when he can
remind me I am a whole three months older than he is - we spend a significant amount
of time and effort skipping stones, trying to hit large stones with small ones while the
former are in flight, throwing stones at logs, using thin or circular stones - spun - in our
attempts to produce duck's farts, and sweatily heaving the largest rocks we can manage
up to the tops of small cliffs so we can throw them into the water and so produce Really
Big Splashes.
(Look, growing up is about this sort of stuff no longer being the
only
way you're al-
lowed to have fun, not about having to give it up altogether.)
