What I did on my holidays

[Chookie]

I mentioned, before I went off enjoying myself, that I was going on a hillwalking trip with a bunch of other idiots. In order that you become better informed, this bunch, when at full strength numbers seven. These seven being myself, a brace of Fifers and a solitary Weegie, one lonley Frenchman and two persons of the English persuasion. We all met (yea these many years agone) when we were inflicted upon one of Scotlands' oldest and most prestigious groves of acadame.

We rarely all manage to get way at the same time for some unknown reasons (unknown to myself at any rate) but it seems that there will four of us this year. It may be of interest that these expeditions have one rule, and one rule only – No bits on the side/spouses/bidie-ins/significant others/offsprings/mobile phones and absolutely no bloody computers (thanks to last year).

In the usual fashion when we arrange these expeditions, one person brings our vehicular type transportation, and the others submit themselves to our marvellous public transportation system. This year I was one of those who braved the terrors of the Stagecoach timetable. Somehow, against all the odds, I survived (all praise to the Invisible Pink Rhinoceros).

Day 1 (Monday): Through the wonders of the telephonic and computerological systems we agreed to meet up in Stirling, to begin our periodic expedition to the homelands of the midgie. We had further arranged that we would congregate in the bar of the Red Lion. After much discussion, proposal and counter proposal (and the odd bevvy) we decided that, this year, we will commence with a quiet stroll through Glen Doll. I was not allowed to navigate this year which is no doubt why we found ourselves climbing Schiehallion.

Anyway, we have just finished setting out our itinerary - still in the Lion - when in walks (I said walks, but they had been at T in the Park) a pair of youngish American gentlemens (can we still call them that, even if they are from Texas?) whom we shall call respectively, TD – (for Totally Donnert) and MLG (for Marginally Less Glaikit) and yes, gentle Gardener, you will meet them again! They were going on about how f**king small everything is, and how f**king wet – this being a direct quote from the more awake of them. This, of course, caused us to employ Lie No. 147(a).

Day 2 (Tuesday): We have arrived in Aberfeldy. Our Weegie contingent (this year’s transport manager) has brought his Kelvinside tractor and his (inflatable) girlfriend – this year she is blonde haired and has four legs (we think it’s a she due to the lipstick and the mascara). Our Froggie element, who actually resides in Edinburgh, has fetched a few bottles of wine an some Roquefort (which, I am reliably informed is cheese), although, myself personally, will not eat anything which smells worse than my feetses after a day on the hill, our English component has arrived equipped with some cases of Bishop’s Finger and myself is supplying a bottle or two of the holy water from Skye.

To set the scene, we have arrived, put up the tents and arranged to dine al fresco (outside the nearest chippie). Thereafter we retired to one of those places which rents alcohol to members of the public. Inside this establishment, to our astonishment are found that selfsame pair of Murcan gentlemans last seen in the Lion. They are currently engaged in denigrating the local beer as being unfit for human comsumption (remind me please, which country invented Budweiser and – Blechhh - COORS?) but, to be fair to them, what do they know? After all they are soaking up Tennents like it’s going out of fashion. (For the unitiated, Tennents is a mass-produced cooking lager, acceptable in an emergency, but unaccountably popular with tourists, teenagers and Neds).

Day 4 (Thursday): Later on in the week, we have now changed our plans – again! – and are now heading for the West Highland Way. We are presently in a pleasantly alcoholic haze (except for myself who is in mourning (sob sob sobbity sob) – my camera became a casualty of war in a night fishing expidition, (although there may be hidden benefit as no photos will now exist of our adventures) and are sat in a pub in Fort Augustus, when to our surprise, in comes MLG, sporting a black eye and a fat lip, neither of which is in the first flush of youth. TD is not to be seen. Upon investigation, we discover that these two numpties were drinking in a boozer in Snechie where TD began to a drunken denunciation of both Snechie and Snechieites – to which some of the younger locals took exception – a sort of general free-for-all then ensued. TD was slightly duffed up (and lifted) which is why he is not in attendance.

Now, I have been known to (very occasionally) say nasty things about someone else’s country of origin, but even I have enough sense not to do this when I am actually in that country and, while outnumbered, in the company of natives who have also been indulging in mind-altering fluids. Not this pair.

Day 5 (Friday): We have had a very pleasant stroll through Glen Moriston in the morning, then in the afternoon, we take a quick trip up Meall Fuamhonaidh, before ambulating through Glen Urquhart and the stopping in Drummnadrochit for the night. We are just finishing a nice meal when, for the first time in the holiday, the skies open and it begins to rain. Heavily. So we are forced to stay (unwillingly) in the hotel overnight. Handy for Nessie watching though........

Day 6 (Saturday): We start Saturday by going to Culloden to pay our respects – for those who have not been there, Culloden is a very evocative and atmospheric place. The rest of the day we utilise investigating some of the walks around Inverness.

Day 7 (Sunday): A day of rest. Well, we are in Scotland after all.

Day 8 (Monday): Just outside Achnasheen, we are awakened at the crack of sparrowfart by anguished yells from our Sassun element, who had pinched the flattest bit of ground to pitch his tent. He had unfortunately neglected to note that the burn adjacent to his tent was extremely full. The burn has expanded quite a bit during the night. It is also bloody raining.By the time we have broken our fast and broken camp, it's raining even harder. A hurried conference results in calling a premature halt to our fun. Having supplies left (of alcohol) we decide to retire to Glasgow before reallocating what's left. Then, before we even reach the Dear Green Place, the weather clears. Blast.



Glossary

Stagecoach – Public transportation service (Bus)

Midge (or Midgie) – scientific name Culicoides impunctatus: miniscule blood-sucking monster, much cursed by those who have not come to an arrangement, also the original Monstrous Regiment

bevvy – alcoholic refreshment, normally served in pint glasses

Totally Donnert – utterly f**king stupid and proud of it

Bidie-in – person of the opposing gender who lives and sleeps with you

Marginally Less Glaikit – has operating braincell, but only one

Weegie – Glasgwegian

Kelvinside tractor – a large off-road vehicle which very seldom leaves the road other than to visit a supermarket car park. An SUV (or, for Ozzies, a Ute)

Murcan – American

numpty (plural Numpties) – unthinking person(s)

Boozer – Pub

Snechie – Inverness

Snechieites – inhabitants of that fair – well, it used to be – city

duffed up – banjoed/panned in/physically chastised

lifted – one stage up from helping police with their enquiries i.e. Arrested

burn – small river

[buttercup]

Now thats a holiday :wah: