As both of the people who follow this blog will be aware, I have a habit of visiting multiple places on my holidays. This year will be different. Not in that I won’t be visiting multiple places, but this time I’m doing it by car rather than by public transport. So, not that different at all, really. Anyway, on with the show.

Since I last darkened your door with my rambling drivel, it’s been a bit of an odd year. My back has still been bad and made me cancel my original plan, which was to do the Cotswold Way. I’ve had an officer take me to an Employment Tribunal because apparently I’m a bad man and she should be allowed to turn up to work drunk. I’ve been put on a project at work for three months which has been huge fun and has given me the chance to practice driving – which is useful for this holiday.

The NC500 was something that wasn’t really on my radar. I’d seen the name, but what got me interested was a picture of the Kyle of Tongue.

I took one look at that and wanted to go there. So I started doing some research. I did all the sensible stuff and bought the Robbie Roams book and made the decision to use a car rather than something larger. I also joined several Facebook groups about the NC500 and that’s where the problems started. What was immediately clear is that a lot of people on these groups really hated the NC500. There were a lot of people complaining about roads being clogged up, a lot of hate about caravans and “wild camping” and (on a group called “NC500 The Dirty Truth) a load of vitriol being hurled about tourists generally.

It actually got bad enough that a couple of months before my trip, I considered cancelling it. If you find yourself in the same situation, here is my advice: DON’T. I had an amazing time.

One of the decisions I had to make was how long to spend on the NC500. In the end, I went for 7 days – this was solely limited by finance. Since going, I’ve been asked several times how long people should take. I honestly don’t know – I have the feeling that if I’d spent 30 days there, I would still have come away with more to see.

Anyway, having done my research, I decide to hire a car in Inverness and do the NC500 anti-clockwise. I also decide to get to and from Inverness by using the Caledonian Sleeper – then I don’t have to worry too much about luggage and I avoid the extra time required for checking in at airports. I’m not getting a cabin as I have a well-documented ability to fall asleep on any moving vehicle. By the way, there are a lot of views on which way you should do the NC500 – I would always go for anti-clockwise. The east coast is attractive, but the west coast is spectacular. Going clockwise makes the east coast a bit of a disappointment.

There are clearly some concerns when approaching the NC 500. The main ones seem to be:

• Midges
• Ticks
• Bad drivers
• Motorhomes
• Crappy weather
• Pot Holes

As a result, I made sure to stock up on Jungle Formula and purchased a Tick Comb. I’d already bought the excellent Robbie Roams book, and I supplemented this with a map of the NC500. I then used both of them to sort out a rough itinerary – I’d recommend everyone to do this as there is so much to see and do. I’d been speaking to a friend at work about going and made the mistake of telling him that I was going to be taking pictures on my iPhone. He would have none of this, so insisted on lending me his spare digital SLR. I’d also realised that there was a lot of scenery that I’d be unable to capture while I was driving, so I bought a little Go-Pro that would run off of the cigarette lighter in the car.

I think you’ll agree, that I was ready.

The day dawned for me to head off and, as usual, I left all my packing to the last minute. The Caledonian Sleeper doesn’t leave until 21:15, so I don’t leave the house until after 19:00. Which feels weird – there’s something not right about starting a holiday in the evening! Anyway, I grabbed my rucksack and my little suitcase and headed for the railway station.

Since my last trip from Slough, they have remodelled the station. This has involved putting a fence on the main platform to stop people rushing out of the booking office and straight under a train. They have also moved the barrier into the booking office. So I wander straight in to get my pre-booked ticket from the automated ticket machines. Which are not here any more. I have, of course, walked straight past them as they are now outside the station which makes it convenient for the homeless people to bother you – which is exactly what happens.”

“I’m not homeless, but I’ve been trying all day to get £5 to get my electricity turned back on.” The gaping holes in her story pale into insignificance as I have previously dealt with her at work, so I politely decline, collect my tickets and head through the barrier, leaving her to find some other mug kind Samaritan.

I head up and over the bridge to the platform where the Elizabeth Line waits. There is a rush of people panicking to get to it but I stroll casually across, seemingly unconcerned. This is for two reasons: (1) I am, as usual, nearly an hour ahead of schedule; (2) I know there’s another train in 20 minutes. I can understand running for a train if you have to wait for an hour – but 20 minutes? Not worth the effort. My refusal to walk faster than an amble does mean that a child runs full tilt into me as his mother manhandles an unfeasibly large wheely bag across the footbridge.

Having found a place to wait for the next train, I get out the first book of the holiday: Ben Hur by Lew Wallace. I’m almost immediately surprised by how religious it us … I don’t remember that from the film!

The Elizabeth Line turns up as predicted and my fellow travellers on the platform show a serious lack of commuting etiquette as they try and surge on without letting people get off first. I get a thank you from a harassed-looking lady as I let her off as a family of approximately 20 people swarm on. I mutter darkly at them – damn, it’s a bit early in the holiday for dark mutterings!

As I settle into my seat I look up to see the opposite platform absolutely packed with commuters heading home. By the time I get into central London to change to the Northern Line, the trains and stations are full of people talking slightly too loudly – a sure sign that they have been in the pub. Most are clearly off for a night out, which makes me feel even more disconnected.

I arrive at Euston an hour early and head down to the platform, which is tucked away in a corner of the station. To my surprise, there is already a queue of about 20 people which includes a loud American family who are having a “spirited discussion” with a lady at the barrier. As they step away, it appears that “spirited discussion” is their default and so I sincerely hope that I’m sat in a different carriage from them. As I settle down to Ben Hur, I realise that when I packed, I forgot a few things – Robbie Roams, the map and my itinerary. And probably my tick comb. Bugger.

They let us in about 15 minutes after I arrive (clearly recognising the impact of my blog HAH!) and I head down to find my seat. Not too bad – though I do envy all the people with cabins.

I settle down and explore my complimentary sleep kit for the “Journey of a Night Time”. (I bet someone was ridiculously proud of THAT one!). There is a decent menu though, so I shall grab something before I settle down for the night and look forward to a decent breakfast in the morning.

My near neighbours are a very polite little boy and his Dad and by the time we leave the carriage is about half full. Weirdly, all the seats seem to be facing backwards – I later find out that they swap halfway down the carriage. But it’s comfortable enough and I’m sure I shall be able to get some sleep.

I decide to avail myself of the menu and ask for a toasted sandwich. The guy who speaks to me is unsure as to whether hot food is available. Which seems odd – this is a reasonable menu, most of which is hot. Are they just taunting us with it? Eventually my toasted sandwich and coffee arrives.

Sleep has proved elusive when we get to our first stop at Crewe at 11:45. I wouldn’t have thought anyone would be catching a train at this time of night, but by the time we pull away, the carriage is now full.

An hour later, we arrive at Preston. My infamous and much-vaunted ability to sleep has so far eluded me and I’ve done little more than doze. Ah well, still 8 hours to go. Even if I don’t get much sleep, I deliberately planned for a short journey by car today, so I should be able to cope.

During the night, one of the problems of trying to sleep in a carriage likes this comes to light. At some point, some muppet will knock over their rubbish and send cup, milk sachets and stirrers flying into the aisle and wake everybody up. Mumbling an apology, I sheepishly pick everything up and pretend to go back to sleep.

By the time 6am rolls around, I have had very little sleep. Most people are starting to wake up and I’m starting to think about breakfast. Almost immediately a little sign goes up saying that there is no hot food. Which I think is a bit crap. I decide to head down to the toilet, at which point I’m very glad that I’m sat at the other end of the carriage as some bright spark has decided that it’s a good idea for the toilet to announce everything that it is doing – and to do so very loudly:

• “Toilet door is opening”
• “Toilet door is closing”
• “Toilet door is locked”
• “Some prat is getting water everywhere while washing their hands”
• “Oh dear, I see Madame isn’t wearing her car crash underwear.”
• Etc

I head back to my seat and order a coffee and ask about the hot food. Apparently is is unavailable due to “high demand”. Seriously, they know how many people have booked seats, so surely they can correctly estimate the amount of food needed? Or, as seems more likely, do they have a limited time to make it and therefore give priority to the people with cabins? Bastards!

The scenery outside, by the way, is amazing. It’s been sunny since dawn and we’ve been travelling through mountains and hills. It’s all very bucolic with livestock everywhere and bodes well for the holiday.

This starts to go downhill at 07:45 when the first dickhead takes a loud work call. Why is it that these are always taken by people who have no volume control and feel the need to shout? He really shouldn’t have bothered, as he clearly isn’t awake yet and his conversation includes the scintillating line “No, yeah, well, yeah, no.”

We arrive at Inverness 20 minutes early, Bloody typical – I have 2 hours to wait to get my hire car, so this is one journey that I really didn’t want to be early for. Never mind – gives me time to get breakfast, a tick comb and a map (not necessarily in that order).

I head into the town centre, snapping a few shots on the way with the iPhone.

After a short journey, I find the Good Craic Cafe https://www.facebook.com/GoodCraicCafe/ where I astound the waiter with my ability to make a quick decision. Well, it wasn’t difficult, and I settle down to await my Full Scottish Breakfast. I take it as a good sign when one of my fellow passengers walks in. As he has travelled up here with his bicycle, I assume he has some local knowledge. The breakfast does not disappoint – damn, it’s good to be somewhere where black pudding comes as a standard!

The service is fast and the waiter is friendly – although he has as many problems with my accent as I have with his! The food is pretty good and by the time I leave, the place is packed. It’s noticeable that there are as many locals as there are tourists, which speaks well for anywhere. (I could claim that it’s my status as a trendsetter, but even I might be pushing that one!)

I head to some local shops to pick up a tick comb and a map. The map involves going downstairs in WH Smith to the room “where staff never go”. I got directed down here by a lugubrious assistant who seemed surprised that anyone would want to go down stairs to “where the books are”. I find a suitable map and while I am there am accosted by a little old lady who is looking for a book on Scottish birds. We both have a hunt around but can’t find one. As I’m heading upstairs I see a staff member disappearing around a corner in the same way that small ghost children skip out of sight in horror films. I track her down and direct her to her customer downstairs. She looks at me in the same way as her colleague and grudgingly heads down to stare at the unfamiliar presence. I pay for the map and get the hell out of there.

I decide to head for the car hire place and take Google’s advice on the way to walk. This takes me through an area that can best be described as “sketchy”. There are several tour drop off and meeting points along the road which I’m sure must attract the more unsavoury elements of the town. Luckily, they’re not around today. I arrive at Arnold Clark, with my back giving me some serious gyp and sit down to sort out the car. It appears that my booking of a manual Vauxhall Insignia has changed to an automatic Skoda Octavia. It is quickly swapped for a manual by the very helpful assistant. He then asks me for my National Insurance number for a DVLA check. Now some people may know theirs, I haven’t got a clue. However, he gets it sorted, is very helpful and soon am introduced to my mighty steed and the NC500 officially begins.

Now, I would usually include a ton of photos that I’ve taken, but for this particular entry I’m going to have to rely on pictures I’ve grabbed from the internet. The reason for this will come clear later on.

My first destination is Chanonry Point which is known to be a good place for dolphin and whale spotting (though mostly dolphins). It’s approached by a single-track road with passing places that goes across a golf course and it’s immediately very clear that some people just don’t understand how to drive on these roads. However, I successfully get to the small car park, snag one of the few remaining places and have a stroll around. I am now deploying the digital SLR, so I start learning how to use it.

There are quite a few people here – and seem to be a lot of Germans. There are, however, no dolphins. But it’s a good walk around the pebbled beach and I take some artistic shots of a beached boat. There’s not much to see here if the marine wildlife isn’t co-operating, so I’m fairly quickly back in the car and off to the Fairy Glen.

The Fairy Glen is a 1 1/2 mile glen leading to some small waterfalls. It’s also an RSPB area. I find it’s tiny car park, where manoeuvring is made far more difficult by the motorhome driver who has decided to park in the entrance. But I find a space and head up the path. Now, I should say that so far the day has been warm and sunny. So I’m wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Apart from the camera, that’s all I have with me.

I head down the path and under a road bridge alongside a stream. As I do, there is a group walking down the path on the other side who tell me that my path has been wiped out by a land slip, but that I can cross to this path over the road. Thanking them, I do so and negotiate a steep, muddy scramble to get back down to the path. The fairy glen is very pretty and, despite the number of people using it, very quiet. The trees keep all sound to a minimum and it’s a very attractive walk. Everything is going fine until I get to the first waterfall.

There are a couple of people here that I’ve caught up with and I can see the steep path heading on to the second waterfall. As I take some photos, I feel the first drips of rain. Damn – well from what I can see of the sky, it’s likely to clear up pretty quickly … isn’t it?

Sadly, I am wrong and the shower turns into a torrential downpour. I head back to the car, initially going from tree to tree and trying to shelter briefly each time – but the downpour is so intense that rain is still getting through. The path gets slippery very quickly – I’m glad I’m wearing boots. I start to get worried about the camera – it’s not mine and I don’t want it to get water-damaged. So I keep putting it under my T-shirt. By the time I’m halfway back, the effectiveness of this is somewhat dubious as my T-shirt is soaked. There are still a couple of people heading into the glen and I refrain from responding to the smug git whose comment is “Is it a bit wet then?“

By the time I get back to the bridge, I am cold, soaked and miserable. I look at what was a muddy scramble before and realise that there is no way I can get back up it. Well that stream isn’t THAT deep is it? I manage to successfully get 2/3rds of the way across it before it gets deep enough to get inside my boots. I squelch the way back to the car park. The rain persists which hasn’t stopped a huge family who are letting their children run around in front of moving vehicles. I ignore them and head around to the boot of the car where I can change my shirt and boots. The jeans will have to stay on 😦 The Age-Appropriate Hoodie gets pressed into service as a towel to dry me and the camera off. I get back into the car, turn the heating on and curse at myself. I have ignored the most basic advice about the Scottish weather – always expect the worst!

My plan was then to head for the Mermaid of the North, but as I drive through the monsoon, I decide to avoid another soaking and head straight for Dornoch in the hope that the rain will stop. On the way, I cross the truly impressive Cromarty Firth Bridge – if it wasn’t tipping with rain, I’d have stopped to get some photos.

As I approach Dornoch, the rain persists, so I head for my overnight stay at the Strathview Lodge https://strathview-dornoch.co.uk/. The entrance is right on a sharp bend, so I sail past and have to drive half a mile before I can find somewhere to turn around. I then navigate the steep and winding driveway to the Lodge. It’s a nice little place, with some spectacular views over Loch Fleet – or they would be if it wasn’t tipping down. My initial impression isn’t that good. An older gentleman (i.e. probably my age) opens the door and when I say I have a room booked, his reply is “Oh, do you?” However, he brings me inside and shows me to my room where his wife has just finished getting it ready. They are both incredibly friendly, make recommendations for somewhere to eat and then give me an unbelievably comprehensive checklist for breakfast tomorrow … which includes haggis 🙂

I settle down, put my boots under the radiator and sort myself out. I’ve got an SD reader to allow me to transfer my pictures from the camera to my iPhone (so that I can post them on Facebook), so I dig that out, insert the SD card and… the phone tells me that there are no pictures on the card. Oh. I then put the card back into the camera, and it tells me the SD card is blank. I’ve basically lost all the photos that I took today. (I’ve since learned that this is a “feature” of Apple products in that they insensitively assume that everything is in Apple format and aggressively re-format it for your convenience).

This really is the last straw. I can’t be bothered to go out and eat, so day one finishes with me sat in my room, drinking coffee.