Words from a Bird

Yesterday, we made the sad, but surprisingly sensible, decision to leave Scotland for the next part of our adventure.  It wasn't planned, as we were meant to leave today, but Storm Agnes put the wind up me (excuse the pun) and I said to the husband that perhaps it might be best to get settled further south rather than trying to wrestle with an awning during a weather warning. Weirdly, I'm glad we did.  Our last day in beautiful Scotland happened without me realising it.  A day of tramping up a mountain, tiptoeing across rivers via stepping stones.  A day of clear blue skies and sunshine, with a fabulous meal ending our day.  I think that if I had known it was going to be my last day, I would have had a face like a kid who's just been told that the local sweetshop has closed and would have sulked all day, but as it was, it was giggles and love all the way. So the journey down to the Lake District took us over seven hours, and was broken up with a bag of Haribo, two packets o

As well as me being a complete Jamie Fraser fan (if you don't know this character, check out Outlander - you can thank me afterwards), the husband is as big a fan - more of the fighting and blokey stuff, rather than heaving bodices and a cracking love story, so you will imagine that I wasn't that surprised when the husband announced that he wanted to go to the Lochcarron Weavers.   A veritable emporium of tartans, with a large book listing out every name possible with its corresponding clan tartan.  Now I have a very clear line with the Buchanan clan, having had family living in Scotland for around five hundred years before they decided that London was a better option (fools), but the husband (born in Cheshire) has no such connection. 'Let's look in the book', I suggested.  'You might be lucky'. Well.  The nearest we could find was a surname very similar to his but with an rogue 'L' in the spelling.  'That'll do, he said.  Lovely readers, I l

Most of you will know that on occasion, I allow the two furballs, Percy and Reg, to take over the keyboard. For those of you new to my blog, these are two miniature Schnauzers who share our life.  Percy is eleven years old, terribly sensible and intelligent and would have a voice not unlike that of a 1950s radio broadcaster.  He is polite, reads the Telegraph and never oversteps the mark.  Reg is seven and talks like an extra off TOWIE.  This is put on as he actually hails from Bath, but the accent suits his terrible behaviour.  He likes to shout at anyone within two feet of him, unless of course there is food, in which case he will gladly salivate all over your leg till you hand over the goodies.   Let's hear their version of our adventure... 'So, young Reg.  Are you awfully excited about this trip with the humans?  Four weeks of expanding the brain at various historic sites, new friends to make, exciting sniffs, and loads of walking.  I do hope the weather will be kind.'

After our intrepid foray into the far north, we have spent the last couple of days a bit closer to home.  The husband loves to go on a 'magical mystery tour' which basically involves a few hours in the car with no map, so it's always a bit of an adventure.  I mean, for a start, as a woman of a certain age, the odd public convenience is always welcomed.  Up here in the Highlands, they have loo after loo in all the major stops on the NC500.  However, should you go off-piste, they tend to be very sparce, and I always say to the husband to look out for WC signs as we drive round. This morning, the husband's first part of our 'tour' involved coffee and cake at Lochcarron.  This has rapidly become one of my favourite places in the Highlands, and many a happy hour has been spent in the caravan trawling through estate agent listings and reading them out to the husband.  I think I said before that however much I picture myself living here, it is but a pipe dream, but thi

 And so to Culloden... This has been on my bucket list since 1992, and you know what it's like when you have wanted something for so long, that when it finally arrives you are disappointed? Well, this was definitely not the case with Culloden. It was quiet, respectful and informative, with an absolutely brilliant museum/visitor centre.  The husband very kindly walked the dogs around the battlefield for an hour of so while I indulged my love of history.  You felt like this had happened a couple of years ago, rather than just over 250 years and the sad, sad story of the Jacobites unfolded in front of my eyes.   Battles are a funny old thing.  Most of them are played out by powerful men looking for more power, land, wealth, and I suppose that this one was no different.  You got the feeling that every one of the Scottish men on that field were there for love of their country, and not for the more worldly rewards. And while those men died almost where they stood (700 in the first six mi

Well, we have returned to basecamp.  Three days as far north as north can be, staying at various establishments along the way. First stop was at a wonderful B&B at Rhiconich called Ardberg House, run by the completely delightful Susan.  The husband and I had some concerns as to how Percy would deal with new surroundings.  Miss R (my lovely little sis) recently had her lounge recarpeted, and I was over there with the dogs admiring it, and looking very enviously at her beau's record player and substantial album collection, stacked up on the new carpet.  Fast forward five minutes, and I'm screaming at Percy as he cocks his leg against the albums, and does what all dogs do in that position.  Miss R was brilliant about it, but having cleared up, she said to me, 'I can't imagine what he's got against the Bee Gees', referring to the poor album which got the biggest onslaught.  Well, I think we all know what Percy had against the album, but there was no repeat of th

As co-pilot while we have been touring the Highlands, it has been my responsibility to read out small snippets of information and history to my dealy beloved driver as he does his best to avoid walkers and sheep around the skinny lanes.   The husband has found the bits of history very interesting, but struggles a little with the pronunciation of the Scottish town names.  There is one place that we have been through several times now, and ten days in, it is still proving tricky. The name of this 'town' is Gairloch.  So far, this is what we have had... Gary Gareth Grockle Goulash Garish ...and my personal favourite, which sounds so much like it, I can forgive him... Garlic The tricky thing is that we have met very few actual Scottish people, so you don't get the opportunity to listen to the musicality of the language and embed it in your head.  Most of the people we have stumbled across are either English tourists like us, or people who have moved up here to live permanently.

Over the many years of caravanning, the husband and I have come across many different people managing the sites we choose to visit.  Most of the wardens (sounds like a prison when I say that!) are really lovely, but none have been as helpful as Gordon who is our current warden at Kinlochewe.  He has been so informative, and has suggested many walks over our last few days, as we have decided to stay closer to home until the next exciting stage of our journey kicks off  on Monday. 'We are heading off to Torridon today', said the husband as we stopped for a chat with Gordon on the way out. 'Ah now.  If you're going to Torridon, you've got to stop and say hello to Callum. His family kicked him out when he got hit by a car, and what with the old arthritis, he now spends most of his time in Torridon carpark nicking food off the tourists'. Nodding politely (well, you wouldn't want to upset Gordon) we headed off to Torridon to seek out who we had now renamed the Car

Way back in 1992, I picked up a book called Crosstitch by Diana Gabaldon, a story of time travel, love and the Scottish Highlands.  This started a long love affair with the male character, one James Fraser, and when Amazon released their adaptation of it under the Outlander name, I was in second heaven.  Coming to Scotland, we have visited many places mentioned in the books, and it gives a third dimension to the words written. So imagine my complete and utter joy when we stumbled across a cemetery dedicated to the Fraser clan, headed up by Lord Simon Lovat, who had the rather well-suited nickname of the Old Fox.  In the books, this gentleman was the grandfather (via some shenanigans with the downstairs maid) of James Fraser, and was heavily involved in the second Jacobite uprising in 1745. It was like fact and fiction coming together in a huge crash. Driving up the narrow lane to the Wardlaw Mausoleum, I said to the husband, 'Apparently, if we knock the door of the next door neighb

Where do I start? Perhaps the accomodation on Skye might be a good place.  If you remember, I said that we had a booked what I was assuming to be a shed with a mattress.  It appears that my presumption was correct, but the things I didn't predict were damp, bugs, and a very rusty firepit and prongs (the outdoor kitchen).  Never mind us sleeping there, it wasn't good enough for my lawnmower, so the husband and I decided that our aluminium box on wheels was a better bet. Sadly, this meant travelling over the Bealach na ba pass again.  We had gone over it in the morning, but as the clouds were at ground level, I was completely oblivious to the sheer drops, hairpin bends and everything else which goes with the steepest and most scenic (polite talk for bloody horrific) climb in the UK.  As the day had gone on, the clouds had lifted, and as we now approached the dreaded pass (it comes with a warning) all the hidden horrors of the morning were there in glorious technicolour.  'Let

Well....the Scottish weather has returned, and this morning we woke up to a Scotch Mist and rain.  But did it stop the intrepid travellers?  Of course not... First on the list was a lovely long walk through the nature reserve next to the camp site which is at the foot of Beinn Eighe. Very wet, but astonishly beautiful.  It's like walking through Narnia, with a carpet of multicoloured mosses and lichens, and streams bubbling everywhere you look.  The circular walk took us to the Visitor Centre which had loads of information, and best of all, an indoor bird hide where you could watch the comings and goings of the forest.  No red deer or squirrels spotted as yet, but plenty of time for that. After lunch, we headed off to start our version of the NC500.  The things we have seen today are too many to mention, but waterfalls and white rapids have featured quite strongly.  And the beaches - better than the Caribbean has to offer with water so clear you can see the fishes swimming around y

We celebrated our last night in Killin with the most amazing food from the Dochart Falls Inn.  Stunning seafood, and I will never look at a Waitrose blini in the same way again.  Then back to basecamp where the husband covered himself in self adhesive insect repellant stickers.  These are meant for children, and the packet suggests one of two stickers per child.  The husband has upped the dosage ten-fold and has taken on the appearance of a Rainbow presenter over the past few days.  The stickers' sticky claim to fame is not brilliant, and I have been finding them everywhere.  In my washing basket, walking up to the shower block and most recently in the washing machine at our new site in Kinlochewe.  Suffice to stay, they haven't really worked and the husband has more bites on him than ever. When we left Killin this morning, we waited for a couple of lady drivers in motorhomes to take the lead on the road. We knew that this journey was going to be slightly more 'interesting&

'We'll have an easier day, today', was the husband's opening gambit this morning.  I think that he might have sensed that the old trotters were about to go on strike after the past few days, so I smiled gratefully at him over his bacon and eggs this morning.  'Yes' he continued, 'I think we will circumnvigate Loch Tay,'. Now, Loch Tay is over fourteen miles long, so I was confident that the car would be doing the hard work rather than my size 7s.   And so it came to pass... We went anti-clockwise (the husband likes to live on the edge) and after a couple of hours of skin of your teeth driving, finally found civilisation in the form of a marina.  It looked lovely, but I was a bit disappointed as it looked more like something you'd find down south, unlike other places we had been which had complemented the surroundings.  But we stopped anyway.  I'm learning this about Scotland. If you come across an eaterie or a WC, make the most of it.  Heaven kno

What a day today has been.   We forayed out to Fort William this morning, stopping every now and again to admire the absolutely wonderful views of the Glencoe mountain range.  Just astonishing.  We were a happy band of travellers, having followed a coach load of Spanish youngsters around.  After the third stop with hordes of teenagers, the husband suggested that we overtake them on the next viewpoint so that a quieter experience might be got.  This was a great idea, but I did so want a photo of the Three Sisters of Glencoe (a mountain range, not a dodgy burlesque trio from Glasgow), so I had to hang out the window and try and get photos.  I'm not saying the husband was driving faster than I would have liked, but looking back at today's photos, the Three Sisters are accompanied by two large signposts, a rather slow camper van and most impressively, two cyclists.  I feel a lesson on photoshopping or slower driving is needed... Fort William was a bit disappointing except for the f

The husband has today been rechristened.   Having spent a lot of the day in the car today, driving to our next port of call (Killin, we apologise in advance)  the husband suggested a walk into the town for a large medicinal before dinner. Ten minutes in, we realised that the walk was far too long for us, so it was back to the campsite for the car.  Of course, this meant that the husband's medicinal was now off limits, especially as the police station is next door to the pub, so I very kindly let him watch me neck a pint of cider while he nursed a coke and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps.  I disappeared for a few moments as I wanted to photo the Falls of Dochart.  These are breathtaking, and I snapped away happily for about five moments. Coming back to the pub, the husband was deep in conversation with a couple on the next table to us.  We are both equally bad at chatting to total strangers, extracting information where needed, and proffering up information whether it's require

It's official.  I love Scotland. Of course, the weather has helped.  This was totally unexpected, and I spent most of this morning trying to fashion a bikini out of my thermal drawers.  The husband has taken the scissors to his hiking trousers, and the two furballs are sweating like a couple of turkeys on Christmas Eve. We ticked off a couple of things from my bucket list today. A trip to Jedburgh where a long distant relative lived.  This information came to light via my dad's family tree which I have been doing for the past few months.  Having got quite fed up with various down and outs, publicans and weavers, you can only begin to imagine my joy at finding a relation who had a title. Lord High Treasurer to Mary, Queen of Scots.   Now, this chap seemed quite a typical Richardson (my sister will back me up on this!) as he pawned his Queen's jewellery to get himself out of a bit of a fix with the English.  So we had gone to Jedburgh to see if we could find his grave. We wer

Well, we are here. Nine hours, three hundred and five miles, two bacon baps (courtesy of a quick detour to visit Mrs W (the husband's gorgeous sister) and her family), two traffic jams, a contretemps with a large logging vehicle on an S-bend, and several nanna naps (me, not the husband). Nine hours is a long time to be cooped up in the car with your other half, and after several conversations relating to how terrible every other driver on the M6 is, I came up with the suggesting of learning a few useful Scottish phrases to help us blend in with the locals.  It started well, with 'braw' (great), 'dinna fash yersel' (don't trouble yourself) and 'peely-wally' (a personal favourite and it means that someone is looking pale, or a bit peaky as my mum used to say. And then it all went downhill.  It would appear that the Scottish language has many phrases which all allude to the same thing... 'Yer oot yer face'... you're drunk 'Oot yer tree'.

 To my just under ten thousand followers....shall we have a brief update? Well... daughter number one married  Arthur Daley, and presented us with ourst grandchild almost two years ago.  Delicious Zachary rules the roost in that household for sure, even the husband has resorted to wearing shinpads and a hard hat when he visits,  Daughter number two married Jolly Sock Man in July, and they are now the perfect pair.  Son number one marries Little Miss Tiny next year (our poor bank accounts have been battered mercilessly for almost three years now) and son number two is still residing up north and fighting against gravy with everything. So that's me succinctly updated. The big news in The Bird's house is that the long suffering husband and I are off on a Big Adventure.  But surely every day is an adventure being married to that handsome studmuffin do I hear you say?  Well, he does have his moments, as all husbands do, but this adventure heralds the start of a new chapter in our li