I'd always thought of cool-climate Scotland as a pest-free zone. When I leave toast crumbs and a sticky knife on the kitchen bench they are still there when I get home from work...no voracious ants to devour them. And on the occasional balmy night, an open window isn't an open invitation to mozzies and other flying biting things.
Nothing like a camping trip to dispel a few myths.
Despite A's entrenched belief that it simply wasn't possible, never mind sensible, to go camping in Scotland, the
new tent had to be tested. A-camping we must go.
Friday night, after work, we packed up the car with assorted essentials - espresso pot (but no stove to put it on) food, wine, tent, the ubiquitous fold-up chairs (less than a fiver at Tesco)...the baby boot of our C2 was fuller than it's ever been.
We headed through Glasgow and up the west side of Loch Lomond to Inverarnan. Our campsite was on a farm on the West Highland Way, surrounded by trees and hills, very pretty. No caravans (unusual in Scotland, where they're almost as ubiquitous as those cheap folding chairs), but lots of people and lots of tents. Ours was up in minutes (it seems to be foolproof, so far), the barbie lit, wine uncorked and stomachs rumbling. Our sausages browned, sunlight faded, the breeze dropped, and just as we were about to tuck in, the
midges descended. And tucked into us.
Actually, the biting's not so much of a problem. It's more the density of the swarm - they get in your ears, your nose, your food if you're trying to eat...not very pleasant. Fortunately the
Drovers Inn was within walking distance for a wee dram and some local colour.
Later that evening...
There's nothing worse than listening to drunken, unimaginative chat up lines, like "what's your favourite sport, " when you'd rather be sleeping. Delivered in a booming Glasgow accent that sounds like it's in the next sleeping bag instead of the next tent. The joys of camping. We resolved to head further afield in the morning.
Imagine our horror when, on the road, the same booming voice was only four cars behind. It even stopped at the Green Welly Shop when we did. Oh no.
Fortunately we managed to lose it somewhere in Glencoe, which was looking glorious in the sunshine, and somewhat different to our
last visit.
We took the
Corran ferry over Loch Linnhe towards
Resipole Farm on the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. Lochside camping, an on-site restaurant and
art gallery, peace and quiet. A didn't enjoy the single-track road driving, but I'm sure it keeps the crowds at bay.
Wonderful walks to
deserted beaches (just watch out for those
clegs - yep, more biting insects),
ruined castles, and the weekend was gone too fast. We forgot the camera, so no pics. I discovered the only souvenir on Monday night. Alive, and still attached to my leg. A tick. Lovely.
(Don't worry, it's since been safely disposed of. Not my idea of a pet.)
I picked Kev & Emma up in Amsterdam (much to their surprise) on the way back from Brussels. They've had a whirlwind Scottish trip, taking in the sights of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Dollar, Bellshill and Lewis in little over a week, and are now somewhere in northern Holland (I hope it's snowing there too, they were hanging out for it here and left just before it arrived in full force).
Is much taller than me. Here we are on the Isle of Skye, approaching the weird and fantastic Fairy Glen. Yes, I am wearing pink tartan wellies. They were indespensible in the many peatbogs we trudged through while on the Isle of Lewis.
Caragh arrived from NZ yesterday. Today we went to the Wallace Monument, in Stirling. It rained a bit, and we witnessed the arrest of a crazy man half way up the tower (handcuffed and dragged away, it was all quite exciting). Notice the similarity of the wallace statue to a much shorter Australian actor. The most impressive thing was Wallace's sword - at least as tall as me, meaning that the man who wielded it would need to be at least 6'6!
As the pics suggest, Franz F. are looking more like the Beatles than ever - sharply suited, gorgeously coiffed, ever so cool. They even sound more like the fab 4 than most bands of the moment. The stage set was stunning, almost better looking than the Castle in the background, From the Dr Who intro to the explosive This Fire, they rocked. 
It's been a hot and sunny weekend. Hot and sunny enough to inspire a trip to the beach. We went to Seacliff, in East Lothian, and managed to fit in some lazy newspaper reading, flashy frisbee throwing (pay attention, un-co kids, this is how it's done), a SWIM!!!!!!!!!!! and lavish picnic before the ravenous spring tide devoured the beach at an alarming rate. Even the tide was fun though - watching people who wore shoes on the beach try to avoid getting wet (no, you can't walk on our picnic! take your shoes off, weirdos) and providing the perfect opportunity for much beach construction activity.
ge (you need to click the pic to be able to read it). Apparently there's no such thing as the Auckland Aquatic Centre. I asked my mum, and she knows these things. We've subsequently seen the same shirt on TV - someone at the running of the bulls in Pamplona was wearing a red one. So, kids, you heard it here first. Auckland is officially cool in Europe. Or swimming. Or something.
It's been a busy old week in the brave new world of stem cell research. Our researchers published a paper, reporting that they had, for the first time, made pure brain stem cells. We thought that was quite cool, a major advance, so we wrote a press release about it.
It's an island 1.5 hrs from Athens, with no cars (donkeys and boats and feet are how you get around), 365 churches, pebbly beaches, turquoise water, tasty food, great sunsets and a quirky host of residents and visitors, all trying to find something, or escape something, or both. We met a French-Canadian poet looking for Leonard Cohen (who used to live here). A globetrotting restaurateur. A lady artist. A storytelling sailor. And lots of others.
