Salty Sea Dogs

More holiday giddiness for those crazy masochists who asked for it –

I’m not going to assault you with a blow-by-blow account of the whole time – instead I have condensed it into a sort of smoothie full of goodness where you don’t notice the unpleasant green unidentified bits because they are disguised by the yummy red bits. Have at you!

Ceud Mìle Fàilte – A Hundred Thousand Welcomes

There was a lot of driving on this holiday.  When I say ‘there was’ what I mean is – my partner did a lot of driving. I can’t help out because I drive like a maniac and the DVLA very sensibly declined to let me have a licence after what I did on that roundabout a few years ago. So, well done to my long-suffering other half for concentrating for so long all up and down the country and around much of the Scottish west coast and all the islands whose roads we wore down. You can rest that clutch leg now; sshhh, it’s all over. (Sob!)

Northumbria had much to offer –

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I don’t know how we made it out into the sticks because when we tried to continue our journey from Northumbria the signal for the Sat Nav was harder to find than the legendary red squirrels in Kielder Forest.

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I had to get the map out like someone from the 1990s. Luckily, I enjoy a good map and soon I was immersed in this new vintage reading material. The possibilities were endless – a coastline you simply MUST see and this road is stunning and that road takes you through some fascinating historic…

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The west coast of Scotland is all wiggly and rural and hence rather beautiful in a ‘the nearest shop is 50 miles away and all we’ve got is digestive biscuits’ kind of way. That was pretty much the situation we found ourselves in once we’d located our secluded island cottage fairly late at night.  Cue a mad dash to the nearest town and a swoop around Tesco because it was the only place open. And – relax.

Take a deep breath and inhale that lungful of midgies. AHHHHH!

“Scotland – the auld country.” (A line from my favourite film – Local Hero.)

So much to see and do. We visited a different island each day, thus making good use of the variety of ferry services around the coast.

Some were big.

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And some were small.

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Some were challenging to get dogs onto.

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And sometimes there were already other dogs on there.

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Following his initial reluctance to gain sea legs, our dog became a natural and by the end of the week he was boring us with his tall tales of kraken and other mythical sea monsters.

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Our other dog was less concerned with floors that moved up and down and more worried about the laminated one in our cottage, which really hated her arthritic legs and sent them sprawling in all directions.  We have the same problem at home though so we had come prepared. With DOG SOCKS. Which are worth their weight in comedy gold. Honestly, even if your dog has no problem with slippery floors, just get some.  Even if you don’t have a dog – get some and put them on your kitchen utensils, they are hilarious.

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The weather on the west coast was plentiful and constantly changing.  Whatever clothes you wear, they will be suitable at some point during any given day.

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Trench foot

We were relieved to be missing what sounded like a violent heatwave in the south of the country. Each time I spoke to my dad on the phone (when I managed to find a phone signal for 5 minutes on our travels) I could hear his eyeballs melting as he talked. One particularly memorable day we had just returned to the cottage from a beach and a conveniently timed thunderstorm threw itself at us with force. We happened to have the radio on and heard the newsreader say the words –

Sweltering

Oh, we did laugh but not in a malicious way, you understand. The timing was just so perfect.

Our cottage was a cosy getaway with a wildlife haven of a garden. Although it was a joy to observe voles scurrying and birds flurrying, the dogs were unable to roam freely as the whole area was made entirely of sheep. Hardy Scottish sheep at that, with tattoos and piercings. Some evenings we got home to find them trying to break in and claim squatter’s rights.

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(I honestly did see a sheep wearing a shawl of bracken like this.)

For a further flavour of the mood please see ‘Whisky and Haggis (if you haven’t looked already) – my attempts at painting with Inktense (‘Cos, like, I’m on holiday and I’m gonna be all arty, man) which can be found Here.

If we learned only one thing during our Scottish break it was about ourselves –

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Meanwhile, back at home –

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Finally, bagpipes. You know you want to hear some. I only saw one wee boy busking with a set on the waterfront in sunny Oban but I recklessly mentioned Radiohead in the comments of my last post so here you go – enjoy.

Radiohead on bagpipes, yes, really.

 

 

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Whisky and Haggis

What ho!  I been on me holidays ain’t I!  I’m still drifting on that holiday vibe so I’m feeling a bit horizontal – which is my excuse for not having done you a jolly cartoon to giggle at. However, you’re in luck as I spent some of my holiday time playing with my Inktense blocks and I produced a small handful of laughable… shall we call them ‘experiments’? I warn you now that I’m rubbish with a paintbrush so don’t go getting your hopes up. Anyway, just to tide you over until I get my derriere in gear, here, for your delectation, are some bits of my beloved Scotland.

Don’t laugh, unless you’re laughing WITH me…

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There was a lovely beach with a zipwire next to it.  I had to, didn’t I?

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Our dogs had a poo on a different island every day, it sort of became the daily challenge.

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Gigha is a beautiful tiny island off the west coast of Scotland and it was my personal highlight of the holiday.  Due to the generous number of sheep in Scotland the dogs spent a lot of time on the lead so they were most delighted to be set free on a stunning beach where they could stretch their lurcher legs.

In our quest to get dog poop on a different island each day we ventured onto one that I, having been brought up on Famous Five novels, got it into my head that we weren’t meant to be on unless we were rich and/or famous and staying at the posh hotel/spa that owned it.  There was a road bridge, so we just drove on, and there were these grand signs everywhere and I immediately felt naughty as we parked on the crunchy gravel and went for a walk past the golf course and down to the jetty where the loaded folks moored their yachts.

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No gruff gamekeepers came out to shoot us and we didn’t end up in Scaramanga’s underground lair so it was all fine.  However, we did feel guilty enough that one of us went in and booked an eyelash tint so that we could justify our presence on the secret millionaire’s playground island.

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I did TRY to look like I was someone famous as I walked along, just in case we were challenged.

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Bumpy bits.

Okay, that’s the whisky finished.  Normal service will be resumed once I get the sand out of my pants.

Jifosophy 2

Cavewomen

Hungry

 

Time to share my world again…

Do you push the elevator button more than once?  Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?

I rarely use an elevator, or lift, as we call them here in the UK.  I have a deep down fear that I will get trapped in there and have to start eating parts of myself to survive, even if I’ve had a massive bowl of porridge for breakfast.  I prefer to climb the stairs, unless it’s a silly amount of flights.  If I do have to go to the top of a tall building I spend the entire journey wishing the lift good health and mentally planning how I will jump in the air at the precise moment it hits the ground at a million miles an hour after plummeting violently towards the centre of the earth.  I don’t really bother with the buttons once I’ve instructed the lift not to kill me and just drop me at the salient floor, thanks.

Lift

Do you plan out things usually or do you do them more spontaneous (for example if you are visiting a big city you don’t know?)

‘Plan’ is a four-letter word.  A regular bone of contention with my ostensibly more organised partner, I PLAN NOTHING.  Because when I do, it all goes pear-shaped, tits up and a-glay (you know, like the best laid ones of mice and men…)  Especially if I TELL anyone my plans.  I can hear the words coming out of my mouth sometimes and I’ll be thinking ‘That won’t happen then.’

‘Got anything nice planned for the weekend?’ my friend will ask.

‘Oh, we might go to the beach and perhaps see a film at the cinema…’ And in my head I see that flying out the window and waving goodbye.  Cue the weekend and I’m sitting in a nuclear bunker trying to bite a tin of beans open whilst my partner glowers at me over a stub of candle and two dogs and a cat draw straws for which one is getting first dibs on my liver.

So, even if I did plan anything I wouldn’t be telling YOU.

No plans

Describe yourself in at least four uplifting words.

Alive, Awake, Maniacal and Helium.

If you had a choice which would be your preference salt water beaches, fresh water lakes, ocean cruise, hot tub, ski resort or desert? 

A salt water beach, please.  Beach-combing is my natural state.  I can pick up a whole ton of crap on a beach and pretend it’s art until the cows come home.  In fact I once made a set of windchimes from the ribcage of some sort of farm animal I found on a beach.  Stop screaming.

Beach-combing

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