Tuesday 9 August 2011

The long way home from Inveraray

We took - well, not the scenic route, because they're all quite fetching - but the XL route home from the holiday. South west, then north, through Lochgilphead to Kilmartin.

That's another favourite place. Not only do they do a mean fruit scone at the museum, but it was the scene of one of my finest moments, when I got my dry stone dykeing certificate after an intensive two day residential course. Honest.

Anyway, everybody should visit Kilmartin at least once. You can feel the history seeping into your pores. Which isn't something that happens every day.

Continuing on the Oban road for a while, the notion took us to hang a left and have a wee look at Seil Island. Or Seil, at any rate. There's not a huge amount there, but in addition to the pub, there's a bridge...

...a sign...

...and a wooden heid.

All you could reasonably ask for really.

Going for broke, we went home via Oban, Dalmally, Tyndrum, Crianlarich and the Drovers at Inverarnan where we managed to fit in an early dinner. See us? See whistle stop tours of Scotland?



  1. Cannae beat a fruit scone.

    Made with self-raisin flour of course !

  2. An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of his impending demise, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite scones wafting up the stairs.
    He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning on the wall, he laboriously made his way from the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he inched downstairs.
    With rattling breath, he leaned against the
    door-frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread upon the kitchen table were dozens and dozens of his favourite scones.

    Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted wife of sixty years; seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

    Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in rumpled posture. His aged and withered hand trembled towards a scone at the edge of the table...when it was suddenly smacked by his wife with a wooden spoon.

    "Fuck off" she said. "They're for the funeral."

  3. Great stuff. Love the site, love the comments. But I'm a Scotch pie man myself.
    Alen McF

  4. Lol, just read that to the missus, we both sitting here giggling away :)

  5. You'll find no criticism of any pastry-related foodstuffs on here, sweet or savoury.


  6. Was that a scone or a meringue ?

  7. :0)

    No, you're right enough - it's a scone.