o scotland’s hills for me!
And another happy and fruitful trip draws to a close, leaving me with a spring in my step, a warm glow and a suitcase comfortingly replete with enough salt, sugar and saturated fat to knock over a Nessie.
As visits to new cities go, Inverness can certainly take it’s rightful place among my favourites despite not resembling Brigadoon quite as closely as I had in mind before setting off; the healthy number of kilted gentlemen I did see whilst out and about (but sadly not whilst in) more than made up for the lack of heather and bagpipes, and adding in comfortable and spacious accommodation, fresh air and sunshine plus proper soup with scones aplenty I was sorry to be leaving. I will certainly be back, and for longer this time – my list of places to visit is still as pristine as the moment I left for Edinburgh almost a week ago, and having combed through the hotel leaflets and also received helpful suggestions from some of the charming local gentlemen, I have even added a few more…
Unfortunately as far as seeing the noble Highland coos went, I eventually had to admit defeat (having barely had time to go further than the big M&S at Eastgate bar one peaceful stroll along the river throws something of a spanner in the works when it comes to sightseeing), but all was not lost, and lo and behold, whilst out this morning obtaining enough butteries and tablet to last until my next visit I came upon Fergus (pictured above) hanging like a woebegone piñata from the tartan-tea-towel festooned ceiling of one of the kilt shops, where I had envisaged purchasing a sporran until I remembered that it was not yet obligatory to own every possible permutation of handbag in the world. An immediate rescue was effected, a new friend made and whilst wee Fergus may lack the imposing stature of his real-life brethren, he also lacks the smell and mess and moreover fits neatly in my bag (and may well accompany me on future trips, space allowing). My eight hour train journey back has taken in what has to be some of the most stunning scenery the UK mainland has to offer, and after a faltering (and extremely nervewracking) start when I mistakenly left a bag of work kit in the hotel wardrobe and had to go back, I have spent a happy morning in my window seat entertaining exciting fantasies of stripping bare, daubing myself with mud and moss and scampering ferally about the Cairngorms gnawing on things, whooping and howling like a wild woman. I wouldn’t have to do anything much with my hair, either.
Anyway, to this week, or rather next – I am now back in Scarborough until the fourteenth before dashing off again to That London (it is to be another of those months where the suitcase never really gets put away properly) and as promised, my Race For Life offer is officially on from Monday. Everybody who donates £10 will be able to book an hours’ incall for £100, up until (and including) Friday 10th – obviously this means it will still cost £110, but a twenty pound discount is still better than a poke in the eye and visitors can hopefully enjoy knowing that they’re helping! This rate applies to advance bookings only – of course everybody is free to add to the pot whenever they book, but ringing at four o’clock on the off-chance of getting a cheap hour ‘this afternoon’ will not pass muster discount-wise, I’m afraid. Needless to say, those who have already contributed are welcome to take their thank-you hour too!
More soon. Time for bed, said Fergus…
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