The Journey

As I sit here, gazing across the bay to the south, the wind is howling and making something on the roof rattle. The sun is shining, I can see the Paps (that is how we measure the weather in the morning; "How much of the Paps can you see?" is the daily cry) and I have counted six seals on the rocks. This is my first blog, and may be a bit of a stream of consciousness as I muse over the last couple of days...

I left the midlands on Friday morning, in a Landrover full to the gunwhales (or the roofline!) with stuff, as usual. Loading the car is a story in itself, as James and I heaved a double mattress through a GAPWHICHISNOTWIDEENOUGH at ten at night. Thankfully our neighbours are used to our strange behaviour by now. Preying on my thoughts was the issue that I was going to have to unload everything ON MY OWN. I was once trapped against a wall by a rogue mattress for an hour, waiting for someone to come home and rescue me, so am deeply traumatized on the subject.

The drive north was uneventful, apart from the matter of having to backtrack nine miles in order to fill up with diesel. I stayed the night at Rowardennan youth hostel (YH are great places to stay; fab locations, interesting people, yha.org.uk) on the east side of Loch Lomond, beautiful. Shared a room with two girls who are walking the West Highland Way (we hope to do this next year, so I listened to all the tips!) As I had the whole of Saturday to kill, I decided to go the long way round to Kennacraig to catch the six p.m ferry to Islay.

The next instalments: A Thrilling Bog Rescue, Cuckoo Count, Herding Cows