I fell on to the plane after the long and exhausting days of moving house. I do wonder whether moving house is sort of like having a baby; well I hope so, cause I have to do it all again. In the middle you just want to give up, toward the end you think – I just wanna get this over and done with even if I die in the process, and then when it is all over, the memory just comes back in little bursts of panic until it fades, and you can’t remember, so you go back for more.
The flight was easy really. I couldn’t complain at all because I had the loveliest 90-year-old sitting beside me and she flew the whole way without one complaint. She looked about 70 and was a retired physics professor from Cambridge – a bit awe inspiring isn’t it to be a female physicist who started work 65 years before. The journey through Heathrow was all pretty simple and arrived into Glasgow about 5.30pm. Waited patiently for a couple of hours for Carol to pick me up. She said she would be there by 5.45 but by 7.30 I gave up and caught the bus. Arrived into the predictably comfortable Premier Inn on Buchanan with VDS strolling down the street. We went out for a very nice fish pie. Had knocked and knocked on Carol’s door but assumed she was passed out cold. Eighteen odd hours later Carol appeared in search of restorative tea.
VDS and Carol had the car tucked away in the car park over the road and we piled enough suitcases to stay here for a year into the back of a wagon and turned the mighty hearse toward Fort William. This time my trip was with Virginia, Carol and Victoria from Uni Melb, who tagged along for the adventure. Victoria is totally addicted to selfies so all of the way up the road it was .. quick stop .. Selpie O’Castle !! The drive up through the Great Glen was as beautiful as ever with the soaring mountains of the Highlands still covered in snow. Every time I drive up that road I am in awe of the most spectacular scenery but also spooked by the ghosts of the Valley of the Weeping. Mort Ghlinne Comhann, or the massacre of Glencoe always stirs up something in me. Hard to explain when it happened in 1692 but to me there is something about that road. Hey Tom, I have been reading about the massacre and hadn’t processed that the “The Rains of Castamere” is based on it. When we get to where we are going I plan to eat nothing, bolt the doors and cover my head with a wee blanket to keep out the ghosties.
Sleeping under the stars 