God these past few months have simply shot by. It’s been so busy l have been remiss on keeping up with my diary.
Spent a whole day putting the diary together for the end of May and all of June, and with one inadvertent touch of the button lost everything. Bad mood for at least two days. Just couldn’t imagine how stupid l had been. Spent another few hours trying to recover the lost work, unsuccessfully. Which in some ways made it worst. So back to the drawing board.
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The day before we were to shoot off, they cancelled. From all accounts they had run out of the replacement part. The new appointment being pushed back from early June to mid July. They assured me that there wasn’t a impending danger. Easy for them to say. From all accounts the problem had only surfaced in America, not in Europe, so the risk counted as being low.
Nevertheless decided to go away for the weekend, it was a good excuse.
Caught the early morning ferry over to Gourock, then headed South towards Inverkip. Visiting the local garden centre. After 20 minutes of walking round the centre we eventually realised that it would be rather ludicrous to buy plants which would then have to stay in the back of very hot car for two days, cooking, a bit of a waste of money.
Before heading out we nipped over the road for quick walk to stretch our legs on the coastal path, overlooking Dunoon and Innellan. The beach car park was overflowing, and it was only 10am. The sun had attracted everyone out to catch a few rays.
Found the traffic unbelievably heavy, bumper-to-bumper. So at Inverkip we headed inland towards the Greenock Cut - an aqueduct, now a Designated Ancient Monument with fantastic views over the Clyde and moorland. It was great to get away from the fumes and noise of happy holiday revellers out on furlough.
Took us through some glorious unspoiled countryside up a twisting single track roads until we came to a reservoir and Loch Thom. From here we climbed even higher before descending through a heather covered landscape, dissected by small lochs , burns and the odd wind farm, before arriving in the popular seaside resort of Largs. The seafront was once again overflowing with families with the prerequisite kiss me quick hats, children screaming and grandads attempting to pacify them with a fist full of dripping ice creams.
We had plenty of time to observe as we sat on the main coastal route waiting for the traffic to move. Which it eventually did, a foot at a time.
Ultimately the traffic started to move once again, the road sweeper had decided to move over to let the traffic to get by.
Open road once again. Easy rider theme tune bellowing out of the speakers, freedom, and memories of an I’ll gotten youth.
Heading south we past two massive drilling ships near to Hunterston Nuclear power station. Locals call them the Eiffel Tower drilling platforms. Earlier in the year one broke its moorings during a storm and supposedly was on course to smash into the power station. Living only a short distance away, we’re we’re still under the misguided assumption that the power station was running on coal or coke. Well if had gone up, it would have been quick.
Here speaks a child of the Cold War. We became blasé to the threat of the Russian nuclear fallout. Which seems to have resurrected itself once again.
Once again we turn off onto a single track road, down to Portencross ending up at a large car park. What a magical spot overlooking the grand mountain ranges across on Arran and the islands of Great and Little Cumbrae. Could quite easily live here in one of the small cottages overlooking such dramatic scenery. Especially as it has a deep water pier, albeit rather dilapidated and a great harbour to moore the fishing boat in. Although, these days the cost for one of the small terrace fishing cottages has shot up tenfold. Plus the popularity of the village to tourist, being on a coastal path with a historical castle as a major visitor attraction would upset my peaceful equilibrium. Such a selfish bugger. But one only can dream.
Getting hungry, so it was time to head further south to Troon, and our favourite chippie, The Wee Hurrie, down at the port. So busy even at 3.30 in the afternoon. We had to queue to order and then wait for our bleeper to go off before collecting our delicious fish and chips, with freshly made tartare sauce. The coffee was surprisingly good, even though it was served in a polystyrene mug.
Ate in the car whist looking out to sea. Scrum-my. You could say we are obsessed with battered fish and chips. The truth is there’s nothing better than firm white fish encased in a crispy batter. No excess fat, not soggy. Home made big chunky chips.
Judith didn’t manage to eat all of her chips, so she saved them for later. Obviously she didn’t see me drooling at the lips.
Parked up close to Ayr beach, once again heaving. Kites were being flown in the strong breeze. Must have been some sort of event as all manner of creatures and characters had taken to the sky.
Some rather brave, yet obviously mad crinkle cut people gingerly entered into the ice cold waters. From all accounts there are merits to winter wild water swimming. It’s supposed to boost your immune system, gives you a natural high, improves your circulation, burns calories, reduces stress and it is a great way of socialising and making new friends.
Do l want friends like that?
For me, It would bring on cardiac arrest and an early demise.
When the tides out the sands spread out endlessly, and it was great to step out, crunching the unsuspecting cockles under foot along with the odd child who had escaped the parental shackles. Amazed at how many
Japanese visitors were doing the same as us. Doing selfies on their mobiles. As we got closer, noticed they were all shouldering their Glasgow university bags. Must have jumped on the first train heading out of Glasgow Central to escape the halls of residence covid hotspot for a day out in the sun.
Managed a very pleasant walk to the end before returning to the crowded section of the beach. The area nearest to the parked cars and ice cream stalls.
Obviously, when you have children, the amount of paraphernalia you need to take with you to keep them amused, clean and dry determines the distance you are prepared to lug it over and through the sand. Hence the high density of families camped out at the foot of the steps, amongst the accumulation of detritus left from previous occupants.
The tide doesn’t rise high enough to wash away the discarded ice cream and drink wrappers that people can’t be bothered to take to a bin. Surprisingly, Local councils under the financial burdens caused by the pandemic are ill equipped to run around after people to clear up after them.
Women and girls dressed up to the nines, some with skirts no more than belts, groups of lads, possibly on a stag night partying, some wearing nappies sucking on dummies whilst cradling a pint. The atmosphere was electric, and good humoured and not intimidating. Then again it was only 6pm, the night was still young.
Too much excitement for us oldies, we shot off and bought some snacks. A night in at the hotel, feet up with an extravaganza on the box in the form of Eurovision.
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Eurovision, a glittering spectacle, that has transformed itself into a no holds barred home of the drama Queen. It’s completely weird. It is supposed to be a song contest, but it’s more a costume and set design extravaganza. It has it all. Presenters included Shreks sister towering over Dutch starlets, beaming from ear to ear dressed in glitter and sparkles. Contestants in outrageous outfits, including giant white wings of an angel from Norway, and an oversized Russian doll outfit from which the singer burst to freedom in red boiler suite. It had wind machines, bursts of fire, and full on pyrotechnics blasting off in all directions. It was full on camp full of kitsch, outrageously awful, yet amazingly great to watch, preferably with the sound off.
Ukraine’s artist sounded as if they were being neutered with a stage set reminiscent of a snow covered Lapland forest, whilst France’s Barbara Pravi, a younger version of Edith Piaf took to the stage in a simple black bustier to croon her song “Voilà,” the French loved it l am sure.
We had the sexy strutting girls from Azaberjan, the Icelandic competitors promoting their knit ware , rap from Sam Marino and the overly camp Norwegian angel being whipped by scanterly dressed hunky male devils.
Little wonder that our entry from James Newman dressed in a plain leather jacket received not one point.
Netherlands tribal African beat was my personal contender for top place, but what do l know. My favourite all time winner was Puppet on a string by Sandie Shore back in 67.
Next year let’s think out of the box.
The following morning, out bright and early and headed for Dumfries house and gardens.
Prince Charles has done a fine job of restoring the house and grounds whilst giving the local community an opportunity of learning new skills after the demise of the local coal fields put thousands out of work.
Not only has the project employed many locals, but practical training schemes on site have been developed to give people new skills.
The gardens themselves are extensive with many areas developed on a theme. Certain projects, such as the arboretum will not come to fruition for many years, but the foundations for the future have been set.
We enjoyed the early morning peace, strolling through the woods, heading for the walled vegetable gardens.
Unfortunately, some inconsiderate person had taken to throwing their black bags of dog faeces into the trees, to swing in the wind like a grotesque Halloween garland.
My faith in humanity is put to the test these days. I am sure it’s only a small minority of individuals who are just too lazy and/or ignorant with no moral compass who do such a disgusting thing.
We need to give the gardeners and wardens tasers and the authority to zap any such moron. Put the offenders in stocks, then allow children to pelt them with the dog sh-t.
Bring back hanging and the cat and nine tails, l say. We are just too mammy pamby these days. Sounds like my dad, and his dad. Must be an age thing.
Viking-inspired expedition yacht Ragnar for sale
19 MARCH 2021BY MALCOLM MACLEAN
The 68.2 metre Icon motor yacht Ragnar has been listed for sale by Arcon Yachts.
Originally built as an ice-breaking multipurpose support vessel in 2012, she was transformed into a world-girdling expedition yacht by Icon Yachts in Holland to a design by RWD and delivered in 2020. Ragnar can accommodate 12 guests and 16 crew on board. She features two identical owner’s cabins both connected to a private terrace as well as the forward observation lounge for enjoying the views.
Most like a conventional yacht is the top deck, a sheltered but open-air space with a spa pool, bar, barbecue and seating area. Stairs on either side – one for crew, the other for guests – lead to the A deck, which is divided between the large wheelhouse and a panoramic upper saloon with space for outdoor dining.
While tartan fabrics, Chesterfield seats, dark-stained walnut walls and chevron parquet floors feature in the upper saloon and dining room, the observation lounge and guest cabins are finished with bleached oak and light, neutral colours for a good night’s sleep. The spa is Zen with plenty of warm travertine and teak to warm up after a ski expedition or an ice-cold shower.
She is equipped with electrically driven Wärtsilä Icepod thrusters while the diesel-electric Caterpillar propulsion uses electric pod drives for a cruising speed of 8 knots topping out at 10 knots and a range of 6,000 nautical miles.
Ragnar is asking €69,500,000.
HMS Tamar off shore patrol vessel in its new camouflaged paint scheme sailing up the Clyde the other day.
HMS Kent is one of the newest of the Type 23 frigates within the Royal Navy arsenal. Built by BAE Systems on the Clyde, she was launched on 27 May 1998 by Princess Alexandra of
The Waverley, at last alto service with reduced capacity
It’s great to see all the flowers coming into bloom
Freshly made pain au chocolate. Nearest we are going to get to experiencing the French atmosphere this year.
When we do manage to get over, would love to have a few days in Paris.
Just read this article on Paris restaurants which sparked my interest even more.
How to Eat Well in Paris Without Spending More Than 15 Euros a Meal | Travel + Leisure
Thought this may be of interest for when you can get back to normal and visit Paris.
https://www.travelandleisure.com/food-drink/where-to-eat-for-cheap-in-paris
Our neighbours kindly offered us the use of their new caravan, not only that, but as we don’t have a toe hook, they said they would park it up on a site of our choosing and pick it up once we’re finished. That’s over an above. Such a lovely couple.
The van was still pristine as it had only been used twice in four years. As I say the only problem was we didn’t have a hook up. Also hated towing. Well if truth be known it’s not the towing, it’s the reversing that causes the problem.
My first thought was up in Gairloch, 265 miles and six hours driving so Judith found a glorious place nearer to home, yet off the beaten track. Killberry, 86 miles away and only two hours driving on the west coast of argyll across from Tarbert, overlooking the islands of Islay and Jura.
What we didn’t realise was that the site lay at the end of a 15 mile tight, steep and winding single track road with small passing places. Ian had aged ten years by the time he had reach the camp site.
We were oblivious to his trials and tribulations as we drove through glorious sunshine, stopping off for lunch at the forestry picnic site at Ardcastle just before Lochgilphead. To us the drive along the singletrack road was uneventful yet punctuated with glorious views and snippets of pure joy. But that’s because we were not towing a dam great caravan, trying to second-guess when the next passing place may appear.
Our home for a fortnight. In our neighbours caravan.
Awoke early after our first night in the van. We had a disturbed sleep, not by the campers, it was the lack of blackness. It was like daylight outside.
Judith then had a sleeping bag malfunction which left her uncovered and freezing cold. Which in turn woke me from my snoring bliss, and we trotted to the loo at 3am.
Breakfast and the a drive to Torinturk, and a forestry walk. views from the top of the fort to West Loch Tarbert and towards the distant hills of the islands of Arran and Islay. The path climbs through the woods to the atmospheric ruins of Dùn a’ Choin Duibh, the fort of the black dog, where legend tells how the great hunter Torquil Mor died fighting a wild boar. Close by is a Bronze Age burial cairn, said to hold the remains of Diarmaid, founder of the clan Campbell.
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Managed to save a wee plover chic from a dogs mouth today. Initially thought the dog had chased the bird off and had a stone in its jaw until we saw two tiny legs protruding from its mouth. Judith shouted at the dog and it dropped the wet limp mass onto the beach. After a couple of minutes it got up and ran towards its mother further along the beach. All ends well.
Just goes to show the necessity to keep dogs on a lead during breeding season.
Such a diverse amount of flora and fauna. Although beautiful to look at, the widespread and unchecked infestation of rhododendron is having an adverse effect on the ancient woodland.
Last night as the sun sets behind Jura.
Weather front coming in. Let’s hope it’s a warm dry one.
Back in Port Ban, our temporary home for tea. During the night the heavens open. What was a stream became a river in full spate.
Good job l had my chest waders with me.
More island than mainland, the wonderfully unexplored Kintyre peninsula boasts hidden coves, deserted beaches along the wild Atlantic coast, tiny fishing communities, gentle hills, fabulous local produce and a welcoming friendly people. Stretching from Tarbert at the north end of the peninsula, to Dunaverty in the south, the way-marked Kintyre Way criss-crosses the peninsula, connecting communities and landscape, people and produce.
Gigha /ˈɡiːə/; Scottish Gaelic: Giogha; Scots: Gigha) or the Isle of Gigha[9] (and formerly Gigha Island)[10] is an island off the west coast of Kintyre in Scotland. The island forms part of Argyll and Bute and has a population of 163 people.[6] The climate is mild with higher than average sunshine hours and the soils are fertile. The main settlement is Ardminish.
Another day of sun and fresh seafood in Scotland. This time on the Isle of Gigha.
6 miles long and 1 1/2 miles wide, population peaked at 700 in the eighteenth century reducing to 98, but this is now growing since the recent buyout by the people of the island.
It’s a shame that the locals need to use signs such as this on a beautiful Island of Gigha
Achamore gardens, magnificent, well worth a visit on Gigha.
Thats what you call the best table in town. The Boathouse, Gigha
Stopped off at a forestry commission site for lunch and a short but interesting one hour 1/2 walk.
The bay at Tayvallich. Time to set the tent up for the first time. Took only 20 minutes. Not bad for our first attempt. Then off for dinner, and we didn’t have far to walk. It was right next door to the campsite.
Guess what, sat outside and had fish and chips, jus for a change.
Monday
It rained, and boy did it rain. So into the car and head for Oban.
Need an electric ice box to keep everything chilled. Especially Judith’s white wine.
Mist and rain over flats near the Crimean canal, but the sheep don’t seem to mind.
Early evening at Crinan, the village. And we get talking to a man in a white van. He’s waiting for his delivery of razor fish. He explains he drives over from Glasgow on a daily basis during the season to collect the razor fish, 420 kg at a time. He manages to get them back that night and they are immediately flown out to Singapore or Hong Kong still alive & fresh. The only time when he doesn’t collect them it’s when the prices are too low to make it financially worthwhile. Then the divers have a rest, fascinating.
Tuesday. Sunny and dry. Up early and manage to fit in three separate walks. 26000 steps.
A Telford built pier that accepted the cattle from Jura and forwarded onto the capital.
Paps of Jura, quite clear, although a little heat haze. Yes it’s Scotland
Final day, Wednesday. Head to Crinan and walk up to the fort, overlooking the Corriievreckan. Once back down, we headed along the canal towpath for an hour before heading Home.
Back home, and the sun is still shining. Another kayaking session.
Yes, that’s me. Still in the boat for a change.
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