On the Beat

I spent New Year with my friends over on the west coast; 150 miles by road (and only 84 miles as the crow flies!). The drive over was glorious: from Edinburgh as far as Furnace, I had stunning weather. There was frost on the trees beside the M8; there was ice on the sea loch Fyne. I stopped at Loch Fyne Oyster Bar, but they were too busy to feed me (this was probably a good thing; it isn’t as if I hadn’t eaten or drunk enough over the holiday), so I had a baked potato at the garden shop next door. I am somewhat overdosing on baked potatoes at the moment: they just seem to hit the mark with the cold weather.

I make this trip several times a year, and every time I do, I look at the old bridge at the head of Loch Shira (an inlet of Loch Fyne just outside Inveraray) and think, I really must photograph that one day. I thought it again as I sped past, so I did a u-turn and parked a couple of hundred yards before the bridge. The light was glorious, but actually photographing the bridge was difficult: it was hard to get a suitable view, the shore of the loch being fenced off.

I drove from Edinburgh to Bristol. The roads in Edinburgh are in a state of chaos, in part due to tram works, which made it particularly difficult to leave the city: both my favourite and second favourite routes out of town were inaccessible, and what with the Mound being closed and most of Haymarket too, I have to weave my way around the roadworks (heading west and then back east) before I could head south down the A701, through Broughton, past the Devil’s Beef Tub, onto the M74 and then down the M6.

It was a long drive, made longer by an accident that brought the M6 to a standstill – it was on the northbound carriageway, but they closed the southbound route too to allow the air ambulance to land and police and fire engines to get to the site.

It was, though, a great drive, despite the guilt that I was actually driving rather than in the train. (I couldn’t get to all the places I wanted to by train: I made full use of having a car.)

Six or seven hours later I was heading east along the A4 into Bristol, thinking fond, amorous thoughts brought on by Leigh Woods, ducking beneath the suspension bridge and heading straight to my hotel.

I checked in, dumped my bags in the room, and headed back down the stairs to move my car.

And I fell over.
( Humpty Dumpty... )

A couple of weeks ago, I drove north. I had picked up a hire car the night before, a squat, little Chevrolet thing (I thought American’s made BIG cars. Not this one, it was tiny, like a Ka, but without the benefit of being cute).

I packed my hillwalking gear, a load of food, a bottle of whisky and a bundle of CDs, and headed north.

I knew where I was going – I know the route north very well, almost too well: I love the north west of Scotland, and for me, the north west starts at Cluanie Inn. My first stop was just east of there – I wanted to climb three hills to the north.

But this is about the drive.

I left early – half past seven or so (early for me) - and drove out of town and across the bridge. I had started off listening to the radio, but that really didn’t work.

( So I put on the CD player. )

For reasons I don't fully understand, many of the people who sometimes look at my journal seem to be in love with the Mini. I don't share the obsession - it seems incredibly girly to like a car because it looks cute - but I did think you might be interested in this article from today's Independent: Mini Marvel: simply brilliant. The end.

And here is a little picture for you...


"Mini marvel: all new, all lovable" - that's their quote, not mine!