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NC500 Day 7 – Shieldaig to Slough

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The last day of the holiday dawns.

The plan for today is as follows: Bealach na Ba, Eilean Donan Castle, Kyle of Lochalsh (possibly), Culloden, Inverness, train home, hysterical weeping.

I sit down for breakfast with a marvellous view outside. 

This means that I can see that it’s raining.  Wait, no it’s stopped.  Wait, no, it’s pissing down. Wait, no, it’s stopped again.  I think this is what is meant when they refer to the weather as “changeable”.

I pack for the last time and make some plans for my time in Inverness.  Oh no, a second hand bookshop…

The road from Shieldaig to the Bealach na Ba is single track and huge fun to drive.  Then I get to the Balach na Ba.  This is also a single track road with some very tight hairpin bends and gradients of up to 20%.  It boasts the greatest road ascent in the UK, gaining over 2000ft in under 4 miles.  It is one of the things I have been looking forward to on this trip – and so I am praying that the weather stays reasonable. 

It does.

There are some things in this world where the expectation exceeds the reality and you walk away disappointed.  There are remarkably few experiences that live up to the expectation, and they include:

  • The pyramids at Giza
  • Standing right by the main waterfall of Dettifoss in Iceland
  • Seeing Gemma Collins fall over on stage
  • Driving the Bealach na Ba

Having just been down a single track road, I didn’t think it could narrower – but it seems that it can.  Add in hairpin bends and a vertiginous drop on one side and it gets the adrenaline pumping.  I follow two motorbikes up it and get very confused when they stop on what seems to be a blind bend to take some pictures. 

I then realise that there is a parking place here, so I stop and do the same.  We then proceed.  All goes well as we head up past a parked motor-home and even when we meet another motor-home gingerly driving down.

By the time, I get to the top, I am almost shaking from pure adrenaline.  It’s when I get out that I realise how windy it is – and how much colder it is than yesterday.  But that does nothing to detract from the moment.  I am so glad that I did this and that the weather held off.

Pretty much the definition of the “road less travelled”.

I then head south to Eilean Donan Castle.  The road on the way alternates between single and double track – often without warning.  The unsigned single track tunnel is massive fun as I nervously peer through it and then drive on as fast as possible – as does everyone else!

Eilean Donan is a massive culture shock.  I’ve gone from barely seeing anyone to this crowded site that is clearly on the main tourist track.  The car park is packed and staffed by burly people who are VERY proscriptive about where you park and how much room you leave between vehicles.  As a result, we are all doing that thing where you have to convince yourself that you are much slimmer than you are as you try to slide out without damaging the car next door.

It is swarming with Chinese and American tourists.  I decide very quickly not to go inside, despite the allure of getting a reduction due to my advanced years and decrepitude.  Outside is littered with people taking the same shots: several are the “oh so original” shots where “if you stand there with your hand out flat, it looks as though you’re holding the castle”.  Oh my, how mother and I laughed at that one!

One Chinese woman, in a sort of variation, is exhorted to jump with both hands in the air and yell “HEY”.  She does so, and her friend misses the shot.  She repeats this – and it gets missed again.  And again.  And again.  By the fifth iteration, I am the only person finding it amusing.

I head for the gift shop which looks like Harrods five minutes after the start of the January sales.  People are acting that way as well, and after having been unceremoniously prodded, poked and shoved, I decide to move on with my pocket only lightened by the cost of the car park. I ruefully realise that has constituted more physical contact than I’ve had from my doctor over the last 5 years.

I start to head back to Inverness.  The weather has decided to stop lurking and it starts tipping down with rain.  The temperature also plummets and the car cheerfully warns me that it is 4 degrees and there is a risk of ice and frost.  As with earlier in the day, the rain stops and starts – but the periods of rain are longer than the gaps in between.

I stop at Tarvie services for coffee, chips and their signature burger (which includes haggis).  While waiting, I queue for the loo.  The guy inside takes so long that I almost call for help.  The rain is just spitting now but it’s still uncomfortable standing here as there is little shelter.  While I’m waiting, a Chinese girl turns up and walks straight past me and tries the door.  I give her my usual “No, I’m just stood here for my health” comment and she scurries off.  Luckily the guy inside isn’t dead.  By the time I return, by lunch is ready and I stand outside to eat it…where it is now sunny!

The sun lasts until I finish my lunch, when the rain starts again.  I head on down to Rogie Falls, where I sit in the car looking at the rain.  I decide to give it 15 minutes before giving up.  Alas, the rain keeps coming down, so I head back onto the long road to Inverness.

I have one last place to try, so I drive through Inverness and head for Culloden.  Like Eilean Donan it is packed with cars and coach parties, so I swing the car around and head back to Arnold Clark.  (I’ve since been told that it’s quite disappointing, as it’s just a field). 

I hand the keys back and it’s a bit of a wrench.  I’m trying to convince myself that the holiday isn’t over, but realistically I’ve got a 4 hour wait for my train, a 1 ½ hour transfer at Edinburgh and the Caledonian Sleeper home.  I should be home by 09:00 tomorrow.

At the train station I put my case and bag of “stuff” (including Hamish the Coo) into left luggage while I head to Leakeys – a renowned second-hand book store.  On the way, the heavens open and I put my jacket on for the first time this week.  On arrival, I shuck my jacket as it is baking inside.  Leakey’s is huge – by the time I get to the third set of shelves, I have an armful of books. 

Heaven will look something like Leakeys.

It is packed with American tourists who think they are in a library and are communicating in whispers.  Some are trying to ask intelligent questions, and I particularly enjoyed the following exchange:

  • “Do you sell Jane Austen here?”
  • “Austen? It seems unlikely, but if we have any she will over there…under A”

I always enjoy that level of withering sarcasm.

I exit the shop £60 worse off – but it’s a bargain as it includes a tote bag!  Halfway back to the station, the rain starts again.  As I haven’t put my jacket on, I take shelter in a series of doorways.

The rain stops me exploring Inverness further, so I head back to the station where I have nearly three hours to go.  Recalling my journey up here, I get some provisions from WH Smiths.  (By the way, it is just me who finds it odd that a shop in Inverness stocks Buxtons rather than Highland Spring?)  I then settle myself in the Ness & Thistle with a pint of Tennants. 

I don’t know why I photographed it, but I did

With a couple of hours before boarding, I read some more of Bloodring.  It has improved, though the main character has a bad habit of delivering exposition.  I’m also concerned that there is a lot of reference to her being “on heat” and I have a horrible feeling the book might descend into fantasy sex territory.

Scottish Rail then confuses me when I see a second Caledonian Sleeper which is due to leave at 20:45.  Surely, this means that I will be joining that train at Edinburgh?  If that’s the case, why don’t I just get on here?  I then confuse one of the ticket inspectors by asking him – and the two of his colleagues that he then discusses the matter with.  In the end, I have a chat with the lady in the ticket office who explains that it’s a different Caledonian Sleeper.

Finally, I get onto the original train with case, rucksack, tote bag, Coo and sundry other items.  As I struggle to a seat, the rucksack makes a bid for freedom and slides down, trapping my arms.  Before I can put my bags down, a generous fellow passenger helps the decrepit old man out.  And that really makes me feel like that.  I settle into my seat having divested myself of my luggage and we head off to Edinburgh.

I keep looking up from my book at a guy sat diagonally in front of me.  He is facing me, so I can see the way he is carefully cradling his bag – in much the same way that the guy in Basket Case cradles the bag containing his mutant twin.  My fellow passenger has the look of a feverish accountant about him, so I’m more than willing to believe the worst.  He then starts talking to his bag – which worries me until I realise he’s talking into his phone.  He clearly wants to end the conversation as he keeps saying “Chow chow chow” and trying to end the call.  Unless he was just identifying dogs for someone.

At Edinburgh, I head off to try and work out where to go.  The man who helped me with my rucksack turns out to be looking for the sleeper to London as well.  There are no signs anywhere for it, so I go to the ticket office and ask and then lead my fellow traveller over to platform 11.

At platform 11 there is a cluster of Scottish Rail employees, a line of ticket barriers (all of which are open) and, past the ticket barriers, one of those sinuous queues that they use at theme parks.  I disturb the staff by asking where to go and am told to go and stand in the queue.  We both do this and I get to observe the odd approach that the staff take to dealing with their customers.  They let people walk through the barrier, past the queue and up to the train.  Only at that point do they shout to them, sometimes having to run up to stop them getting on the train.  They then lead them to the back of the slowly growing queue.  Interestingly, virtually no-one thinks it odd that there is a queue or that it might have any relevance to them as they sashay past.

Eventually, they let us on and I head on to stake my claim to my reserved seat.  My fellow passenger is now walking up and down in a state of confusion – on a service where you have to book a seat, he doesn’t have a reservation.  This is confusing everyone.  I hope they can get him sorted out as he is (understandably) getting quite frustrated.  When you consider that it’s gone 23:00, it’s not surprising.  He walks past 10 minutes later, looking much more relaxed as the staff have found his seat.

The three seats ahead of me are taken by a family.  They are difficult to ignore as the three of them seem to have enough luggage for about twenty people and the father manages to slam most of it into my leg as he repeatedly walks past.  I note that he does not pause to apologise.  They then spend about 10 minutes stowing their luggage in as inconvenient a manner as possible.  I should point out that they are in the seats closest to the luggage racks, so their frenetic activity blocks the aisle completely and is mainly made up of the father stood with his arse in my face while he and his wife loudly complain about everything. What excellent travelling companions they are going to be – I just hope they go to sleep quickly.

Just as I think that, they demonstrate their excellent parenting skills by giving their son an iPad and then ignoring him.  They adjust the volume so that it is just audible to the rest of the carriage.  I idly check the windows to see if defenestration is a workable solution.  I feel quite sorry for their son.  He tries to talk to his mother, but she is far too busy looking at something on her phone.

We are then joined by two guys who are so concerned about making noise that they communicate in stage whispers while simultaneously throwing their luggage around which results in them making far more noise than if they had spoken normally.  They then have a long discussion about how much alcohol they should order and have problems deciding whether they should have 3 or 4 cans each.  Fuck me, it’s turning into the Voyage of the Damned.

They are joined by a third guy whose ticket is behind me, but decides he would rather sit in someone else’s seat across the aisle from me.  What a shame that the two Americans who have those seats choose that moment to turn up.  Unfortunately, I now have all three professional drinkers behind me.

The newcomers are very keen to show each other things on their phones.  They do this while playing music at full volume.  The one closest to me looks up, sees me glaring at them and the volume gets turned right down.  It’s good to know that the glare still works.

The mother in front of me decides that she cannot risk one of her bags in the luggage rack – despite the fact that it is literally 6ft from her.  She jams the bag in between her and her son, guaranteeing that both of them will be uncomfortable all night.

Ironically, by 02:30 I am the only one in the carriage who is still awake.

I doze fitfully, and get as much sleep as I did on the way up.  The silver lining is that I get some great views over the countryside on what looks to be a glorious day.  As time passes, it becomes clear that we are doing quite a lot of waiting around.  Initially, I think that this might be to ensure that we don’t get to London too early.  However, as we remain stationary I check Trainline which says that the train is going to be delayed at Euston – but gives no idea of an ETA.  At 06:30 we are stationary at some benighted hole north of Watford Junction.  (This later turns out to be Milton Keynes, so the description was pretty accurate).  If this carries on much longer, we will arrive right in the middle of rush hour.  My fellow passenger from Inverness stops to tell me that the delay is due to a body on the line ahead.  This is shortly followed by the internal display referring to a “police incident”, so he’s probably right.  For the moment, we just sit here. 

After an hour, we are told that the line ahead of us is closed and they have no idea how long we will have to wait.  The staff bring around water and cereal bars.  The three guys behind me interrogate the staff, while making it clear that they are very important people.  They have an extended discussion on what to do and finally decide to disembark and get a taxi.  As they aren’t worried about the £160 they have been quoted, they may indeed be very important people.  Just as they decide to get going, the train starts moving.  I resist the temptation to chuckle.  I always like travelling with people who are getting stressed and angry, because it always seems to make me much calmer.

We finally arrive 2 hours late and Euston Station is swarming with people.  I experiment with various configurations of my four bags, eventually landing on one that allows reasonable movement and I stagger to the Northern Line.  As I get to the bottom of the stairs, the train is at the platform.  I struggle on and the doors snap shut, trapping my rucksack in an iron grip.  I’m pinned.  My fellow travellers look at me with all of the empathy and concern of a dead goldfish.  Luckily, the automatic systems open the door and I am released to collapse into a seat.  I refrain from sarcastically thanking everyone.  At Tottenham Court Road, I head for the Elizabeth Line, forgetting that the journey is about three miles.  My back is by now complaining and I am not looking forward to the walk home from Slough station.

At Slough, I cross the footbridge and realise that I’m not going to make the walk home.  So I get a taxi.  I apologise that it’s such a short trip, but the driver is great about it.  He complains that it’s windy and cold and I chuckle as it’s far warmer than Scotland was yesterday.  And finally, I’m home.

This has been a truly amazing week.  There have been some ups and downs, but it has been an incredible experience.  The high points are:

  • Old Pulteney Distillery
  • Duncansby Stacks
  • Borgie Lodge Hotel
  • Smoo Cave
  • The driving!!! (Especially the western roads)
  • Ardbeg Guest House
  • Tigh an Eilean
  • Bealach na Ba

It was bloody expensive: but SO worth it. The question now is what I do next. 

NC 500 Day 6 – Ullapool to Shieldaig

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It’s not a great nights sleep. There is a ton of noise outside and because the window doesn’t close properly, I can’t block it out. I’m damn glad it’s not cold, because otherwise it would have been bitter here. At least I now know how Raskolnikov felt like in his draughty garret. My back is feeling better this morning, which is a relief.

The room gives me another joyful surprise when I go to use the shower. The last person who used it decided to turn it off at the wall rather than on the shower unit. As a result, when I turn the power on, it springs to life with the water aimed directly out the shower door and onto my towel. I rectify the situation and then begin the Ullapool Shower War. It goes as follows:

· Press button – water comes out, then stops

· Press button again – same result

· Hold the button in – works briefly, then water stops (The shower, by the way, is amusing itself by alternating between scalding and freezing)

· Jam the button in place to get a constant stream of water

· Move the shower head to a position above me. Shower head comes off in my hand

· Replace shower head, which now faces the wall

· Attempt to adjust shower head and shower fitting comes off in my hand as it was clearly not secured properly

· Finally shower one handed. No wonder the last person just turned it off at the wall

Having survived the USW, I head down for the wonder that will be my “Continental Breakfast”. (By the way, have you ever wondered which continent this is from?). The FBI continues to impress with its’ commitment to service as the waitress wanders around with an expression on her face that implies she has been sucking lemons all morning. I look past her unresponsive form to see what is laughingly called a “breakfast buffet” strewn over the bar of the pub. She doesn’t speak to me but grudgingly confirms that I can sit anywhere when I force her to engage me in conversation. I deliberately sit at the only table with a Reserved sign on it. I impatiently await anything resembling service.

(To give you an idea of the quality of the buffet, the bread is a sliced loaf which is elegantly served in the plastic bag.)

I decided not to pay for anything but I am lured away from this position by something described as Ullapool Smoked Salmon. This turns out to be scrambled eggs with a couple of slices of salmon and one slice of toast. Taste nice, but not worth the £12 they are charging.

Breakfast is accompanied by a new book – Bloodring by Faith Hunter. So far, it does not seem to be terribly well written.

Outside is glorious with a much better view of the loch and mountains.

Today I’m off to Shieldaig. Should be some waterfalls and a falconry en route. Showers were predicted today but it’s currently sunny with clear skies. As I head off I pass a line of motor-homes waiting to get into the petrol station. I’d seen something about this on FB a couple of days ago. I head off, glad that I don’t have to refuel.

My first stop is at CorrieShalloch Gorge. I’m there too early for the main car park, so I head up the hill slightly to the overflow car park, where I am treated to the lovely sight of a man from a motor-home taking an indiscreet piss in the hedge. There is a path here with a circular walk, so I head off down it. It is sheltered amid trees for the most part, but there are some fantastic views down thegorge and over the mountains opposite. Part way round, I come across a footbridge to the other side, which is another one like Smoo Cave and it shakes alarmingly as you step on it. As the gorge below disappears to unseen depths, this is a much more alarming prospect.

I meet up with a Scottish Couple who are completing the same circular path. The lady is disappointed and says there isn’t much to see. Granted, it’s missing a troupe of dancing elephants, but it is a satisfyingly deep hole in the ground and I really enjoy my walk around.

I head back up towards the car, my back twinging enough to make me decide not to progress up to the main area of the Falls. Instead I open the gate to surprise a coachload of German tourists who are clustered around it, clearly nervous about daring to open it. They look first surprised, then sheepish as I amble past them.

There are a lot more motor-homes on this section and I follow one out of the gorge as it plods along at 35 mph. I spot an opportunity and I and 2 motorbikes tank down the next spectacular stretch of road. Which of course, has nowhere I can stop and take a bloody photo!

I head down to Dundonnell where I stop to take some pictures at the side of the loch, and then proceed to an amazing beach at Gruinard Bay.

The road from Aultbea to Poolewe is a really fun road, spoiled by the number of motor-homes which are a serious pain along here. I get stuck behind one who is blithely ignorant of the queue he is causing behind him. He doesn’t need somewhere to pull over to take a photo – he just stops in the middle of the road! I find somewhere to stop and let him get a decent distance ahead. Just as I’m getting ready to go a coach goes past and I gloomily predict I will now be stuck behind him. Not so – he pulls over as soon as he can to let us past. What a class act!

As I head down to Badachro along a very exciting single track road, I can see that it’s slowly getting cloudier. But it’s still sunny when I get to Victoria Falls. Surprisingly, there is a signpost indicating the wall to the Falls. Just the one, though. This is a lovely little walk, especially as the sun refuses to give up and is making it really pleasant. The falls are very photogenic, but it’s not quite the same as the mighty Zambezi.

I head along Loch Maree and stop several times to take some more pictures.

Then to Beinn Eighe, which is another wasted opportunity. There is a visitors centre here – but it’s completely unstaffed and no retail opportunities at all. There are 4 walks of differing lengths and difficulties, but no signage to tell you where they start. The hides for observing the bird life are great, but the rest of this place (and the entirety of Scotland) needs some bloody signs!

I then head down to Torridon which is at the end of a very exciting single track road. I go into the Torridon General Stores for a late lunch: cappuccino, black pudding & egg roll and a slice of salted caramel sponge. Eaten sat at a table while the locals doing their shopping peer at you and furtively make signs against the Evil Eye.

I then drive down to Shieldaig and my overnight accommodation at the Tigh an Eilean hotel. It is beautifully situated at the water’s edge and is really attractive. I ask the receptionist how to pronounce the name of the hotel and she shrugs and makes something up. She politely explains that she doesn’t really know as she is foreign – indeed, she has the sort of accent that appears about 23 of the way through Eurovision. I head upstairs. The stair are a death trap as the ceiling is only about 5ft9” in height. The room is very nice, though I change my mind about opening a window as I am directly above the bin storage area.

I’ve booked dinner for 18:00. This is my last night in Scotland, so I mean to make the most of it. Beforehand, I head down to what is rather grandly referred to as the Residents Bar. This is basically a room with comfortable seating and a drinks fridge at hotel minibar prices. But it’s my last night, so I splurge £2.50 on a can of Diet Coke. This must be what the Romans felt like during the worst excesses of Nero!

They have a seafood platter on the menu. I’ve never had one, although I’ve seen a friend of mine demolish one. It has langoustines on it, which I have never had, so I decide to give it a go. I match it with a glass of Chardonnay and decide to order the Scottish cheese plate for dessert. The waitress recommends the pannacotta, so I change to that.

The seafood platter arrives and I’m glad that I ordered the small one. Quite quickly there is an issue – it’s all stone cold. I had never actually realised that a seafood platter would be served cold. Eating it becomes quite challenging and I discover that I really hate the taste of cold shellfish. (The exception is the smoked salmon on the plate, which is about 4 times the amount that I had for breakfast). I give up about halfway through, much to the consternation of the waitress who is sure that she warned me it would be cold. I am equally sure that she didn’t, but I let it go.

At least I made the effort – the person on the table next to me doesn’t and I overhear them ordering a Chicken Pakora and a Meat Feat Pizza!

The meal is finished with a lime pannacotta and orange sorbet. The pannacotta doesn’t wobble, but both taste delicious.

I finish the day with a wonder along the water’s edge, enjoying the quiet and the view – and then enjoying a sign I find on the community noticeboard.

I slowly head back to my room. It’s nearly over. Last day tomorrow – and rain is forecast.

NC 500 Day 5 – Riconich to Ullapool

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I stay up for a while, but the Northern Lights do not put in an appearance.

I have a very good night’s sleep. During the morning ablutions, I note that the windows in the bath are half frosted so that I can see out while my more personal regions are covered by the frosting. While wondering how this works for women, I turn around to see a full length mirror opposite me, so someone stood outside can get a full view anyway! However, we are in the middle of nowhere, so the chances of a random passer-by are remote – much like this location!

The view from the bathroom

Yesterday’s clear skies have been replaced with a grey miasma that looks as though someone has forgotten to turn the sky on. I check the weather report and it says that it’s going to be cloudy all day with some rain this evening – that sounds pretty good to me. The journey to Ullapool has several potential stopping points along the way: Kylesku Bridge, Weeding Widow Falls, Clashnessie, Clachtoll, Lochinver (which an apparently amazing pie shop), Loch Assynt, Knockan Crag and Rhue Lighthouse. Or whatever I feel like stopping at!

The lady I was talking to yesterday (Caitlin) has kindly left out some books so I can re-check where I’m going today. They also show me how much I’ve missed. The area I’ve just travelled through is referred to as the Lonely Lands – which is an excellent description.

Breakfast is amazing. Susan keeps offering more food, which I steadfastly resist. The homemade bread is particularly good and I’m genuinely surprised when she tells me it came from a bread-maker.

All things considered, my first trip to an AirBnB has been very good indeed.

Although it’s not actually raining, there is a lot of water in the air. As a result, it feels as though I’m driving through rain. I stop off at Kylesku bridge, which is suitable impressive. I reckon the views here would be excellent normally, but today the clouds are very low. Despite the lack of rain, I’m distinctly moist after I’ve checked out the War Memorial and returned to the car.

As I drive on, the weather decides it’s bored and starts to actually rain. As a result, I decide not to make the trek to the Wailing Widow Waterfall. As I drive past, I chuckle at the sight of a line of bedraggled people in waterproofs who are heading up to it and look suitably miserable.

The road down to Drumbeg is a single track road which is sign-posted as unsuitable for coaches, caravans and (the implication is) motor-homes. The driving is all the excitement of yesterday, but with shorter sight lines and much steeper roads. Part of the time the road is halfway up a cliff, so it’s very important that everyone drives sensibly. I’m following a car through and keeping it 2 passing places ahead as previously. It’s all going very smoothly until we meet three motor homes driving in convoy. They completely block the road and drive along with the sort of vacuous expression usually reserved for deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

There are a surprisingly large amount of cyclists around today and I keep stopping to let them by. Most are extremely polite despite clearly being both wet and knackered. Several swan past as though this is their right and can’t be bothered to even nod. I lump them in the same box as the motor-home drivers.

The road continues, one particularly steep ascent with a warning “Slow. Blind Summit.” Wait a second, I’ve had loads of summits with no view. This one is more like the peak of a rollercoaster and as there is nothing coming up the road towards me, I can descend appropriately. WAHOO!

The roads on the approach to Clashnessie beach seem even narrower as there is a rockwall on the sea side and a cliff on the other. Luckily, I only meet one motorbike and a single cyclist who manfully pedals up the hill as I wait. The beach is very windswept, so I don’t pause here for very long.

The situation is similar at Clachtoll beach where the amount of water in the air encourages me to drive on to Lochinver. I clearly manage to get to the next level of the NC500 Driving Game as the normal hazards of the road are now joined by dozens of sheep. They act exactly as expected – slow to wander off the road, but fast to suddenly decide they want to plunge across the road 6” in front of the car. I pass the Sheep Level and end up on a steep descent following two cyclists. I’m actually quite happy to slowly follow them down, but one spots me and they very politely pull in to a passing space and let me go by. As I get clear of them, I come across a stream of motorbikes from the south. I pull in and they all wave politely as they pass – except the last one. Maybe they feel that I’ve been thanked enough.

I head into Lochinver and go to the renowned Lochinver Larder – which is closed because it’s a Sunday (which goes some way to explain the horde of cyclists out and about today). It’s probably just as well, as I’m not exactly hungry yet. There is a bookshop next door which is rather pathetically stocked, although I pick up a book on rural walking.

I press on to Loch Assynt and Ardvreck Castle. It is still very moist, though still just short of raining. I tramp down to the castle and make a highly sarcastic video, narrated in a comedy Scottish accent. This raises a few eyebrows and I hurry back to the car. Then my eyebrows are raised as I encounter a woman struggling to get a pushchair down this narrow earth path. I don’t rush to assist her as the pushchair contains two corgis – clearly she is making her own cross to bear.

Today, Susan recommended two places to eat to me: the Lochinver Larder and the Elphim Tea Rooms. The Elphim Tea Rooms are sat on the side of a narrow valley and by the time I get there, the weather has closed in and it is decidedly chilly. I tell the staff that Susan recommended them and once I confirm who she is, they nod sagely. Hopefully she will get good things back from them.

The tea rooms are quite crowded and I briefly feel guilty at taking up a 4 person table. Not sufficiently for me to offer to share as half the people here are from motor-homes, so they could always go and sit in them.

I order Bacon and Lentil Soup with bread and Lime and Polenta Cake. The soup is a bit bland, but hot and hearty. The cake is lovely.

I head on to Ullapool, making a single stop at the Rhue Lighthouse. It’s a nice (if blustery) walk down to the lighthouse but as the weather seems to have improved, it’s worth doing. There are very few other people doing the same and it really gives a sense of how quiet and lonely this place can be.

In Ullapool, I am staying at the Ferry Boat Inn, which is on the seafront. I manage to snag a parking space virtually directly outside and prepare to use my parallel parking skills in the sight of a large audience. To my relief, I slide the car straight in on the first attempt and mentally I congratulate myself (“Well done, Reginald Molehusband”. For those of you who do not understand the reference, he was the subject of a public information film in the 1970s on how to parallel park. And, for some reason, it has stayed with me.)

The view is amazing and, to my relief, the parking is free because it’s a Sunday.

I head into the Ferry Boat Inn (or FBI as they cleverly call it) and I sit down while the somewhat harassed staff serve other people. I’m sat not far from a man that the staff refer to as The Gerbil

(and do so sufficiently loudly that I and several other patrons pick up on it). He is a type of person that I recognise from other pubs. He inhabits a stool by the bar, knows everything and “helps” the staff out. One of the staff hides every time she is alone with him, the other has a fake smile on her face normally only seen in selfies of those women who have made their faces look like plastic. By the time I finish my pint of cider, his help has included:

· Giving people menus when the kitchens are already closed;

· Loudly discussing the fact that the pub has increased prices by 20p per pint – and there wasn’t even a budget!

The staff look extremely relieved when he wanders off, as do several tables of confused foreign tourists (which includes the German couple that I met at the distillery in Wick).

Food is served here and, despite the somewhat dishevelled appearance of the FBI, it comes with a good dose of pretension: a twice baked oyster soufflé and a cranachan terrine are both on offer at ridiculous prices. I decide to avoid it and eagerly await my continental breakfast in the morning.

I climb the narrow stairs and find my meagre room.

The window is stuck ajar – so it’s a good job that it isn’t too cold. My back is really acting up, so when I go to make a coffee and find there is no milk, rather then heading downstairs to the lugubrious staff, I decide to make do. I prop myself up, take some painkillers and wait for it to wear off. It’s happened pretty much the same every evening – it seems fine, then when I relax at the end of the day it decides to have a fit. If it goes as usual, I should be fine in a couple of hours. Until then – black coffee 😦

To add insult to injury, there’s only one pillow. Good grief! It’s like living in the Dark Ages. I blame people in little boats…