One long party

Martyn harvesting the last of his Bramley apples

...or so it seems this August.  Unusually for a Bank Holiday weekend, the weather has been warm and sunny, and we have made full use of it.  We had a branch of Martyn's family here for the afternoon on Saturday, and we catered excessively as usual, even though there were twelve of us on parade.  Not wishing to be shackled to the barbecue (which is out of gas anyway) I made four pizzas and a pasta salad.  Martyn did a big plate of crudités and dips, a green salad and a potato salad.  He also made an apple pie, a lemon drizzle cake and a bowl of apple and raspberry compôte.  (Apples from this year's copious crop).  His other brainwave was to order up a badminton set, which kept numerous generations entertained for a couple of hours while the rest of us lurked in the shade of the willow.

Next day it was off to Faversham for Christine and Steve's annual bank holiday bash, where we got to meet old and new friends, including one of Martyn's classmates whom he hadn't met in the meantime.  Traffic was somewhat Bank-holidayish, but the queue for the coast started only a mile short of where we'd to turn off for Faversham, so didn't trouble us unduly - but we came home across country, avoiding motorways and trunk roads.

Monday's agenda was undemanding, so we got the laundry dry and the bread baked, and knocked out a chicken casserole later (using up the leftover crudités, of course).  But in the hot weather, we opted to hold over the resulting dish for a day or two, from which casseroles always benefit, and finish off some of the cold stuff instead.

Today has seen a happy and sad occasion: Celia's last day at our shared hobby.  Fulsome praise from all concerned, and rightly so, remarking on her firm, fair and humane chairmanship.  The first time I observed her from the gallery, I decided that hers was the approach I should try to adopt when the time came, and I hope I approach her standards now and then.  We took her a little bunch of appropriately named roses from the garden.  We're taking her and Andy to Gatwick on Thursday for their week away in Tuscany - her birthday treat - so will learn then how the rest of the day went.

Back at the ranch, more leftovers scoffed: sausage, potato and mushroom omelette.  I shed a tear at slinging out other leftovers - you can take the boy out of Scotland, but...

Should have gone to Sp3cs4vers, eh?

I think not.  Four journeys into town, plus a visit to their Whitby branch, have failed to correct the poor fit of my new glasses.  I spent the best part of an hour in the shop yesterday, concluding that the frames were just not adaptable to my head.  Both the varifocal glasses and the half-moon readers left grooves in my temples, becoming really uncomfortable in next to no time.  Worse still, the shop had nothing else in the style I wanted that would fit me for the varifocal pair, and not one alternative half-moon frame.  I left feeling like some sort of freak, but at least a reimbursed one.

Yorkshire

A civilised start from home by taxi at 10:15 last Thursday to catch a train to London Bridge, then a longish walk, towing the suitcase, to the bus stop for the No 17 to Kings Cross.  Just about everyone else on the bus had either elbow crutches or a walking stick, so we were in similarly aged company.  One old chap got on, cursing and swearing and thumping the oyster card reader so hard as almost to dislodge it from its moorings! 

We had time to pause for a refreshment at the station, so went to the upper floor of the new hall, and were shocked to see so many morbidly obese people.  The person at the table next to ours was wearing a shocking pink shirt, which kinda compounded the felony.  We are hardly sylph-like ourselves, I should add, but felt less ashamed of our shapes in such company.  The train was a venerable HS125, such as I used to use between London and Dundee in the 1980s, but re-engined in the meantime, and no slouch.  Looking and feeling rather tired, though, and the experience was not helped by the presence nearby of the usual screaming brat.

Annie met us at York, and drove us across the moors to Whitby.  At this time of year the heather is magnificent - at the viewpoint above Horcom Hole we could see for miles across vast sweeps of purple.  We hope someone has put some bee hives out! 

Whitby Abbey shortly after dawn

We are staying in Annie's late husband's first wife's holiday cottage in a new development on the right bank of the Esk near the centre of Whitby.  It has views down the estuary and up to the ruined abbey, as well as across the river to the station whence steam trains leave for Pickering on the North Yorks Moors Railway.

Annie's friend Chris joined us for supper, so the four of us legged it into town to get fish and chips.  Very good, but we later formed the view that generous portions thereof, cooked in beef dripping, are not the greatest idea for bolshy old innards.  A poor night's sleep, in a small double bed with too warm a duvet.  We took the duvet out of its cover at some point in the restless small hours, and cleared the single bedroom next door in the morning.  We're a bit too big to share a 4'6" bed...

We took a stroll into town on Friday, and walked to the end of the pier to enjoy the views out to sea and along the beach, where kids were having donkey rides.  Thence to the local branch of the optician chain I probably should NOT have gone to for a last attempt to get the new glasses to fit comfortably on my big 'ead.  Failure, so they're going back next week.  Home via the pie & mash shop, and a soporific lunch.

Whitby Abbey and St Mary's church yard

We took a ride up the hill to the Abbey later, and thence to the fascinating St Mary's church.  Architecturally quite complex, with bits of pure Romanesque and some quite modern windows.  Inside it is curiouser yet, with high box pews and galleries.  And a clock with a decent Westminster chime, though less good time-keeping.  (Hence not a candidate in the BBC's search for a substitute for for Big Ben during the long refit.)

Saturday was our steam trains day, which we thoroughly enjoyed.  Out from Whitby at 10:00, arriving in Pickering through the woods and heather in time for lunch.  And just in time for a downpour, so we hung around in the station before puddle-jumping up to the White Swan for lunch.  Variously, steak sandwiches, with the meat done authentically French-style rare, or bacon chop, aka Kassler Rippchen. 

Art deco saloon car, North Yorkshire Moors Railway

We took three trains back down, stopping at Goathland and Grosmont.  On one leg of the journey we travelled in a fabulously restored Art Deco saloon car, with the most comfortable seats I expect ever to encounter in a train.  We paused at Goathland, but didn't scramble up to the village centre as time was limited.  We did have time to admire the nicely laid out borders in the station.  There was a time when railway stations competed for awards for their gardens.  A pre-Beeching, pre-Thatcher time, of course.

At Grosmont, we went along through the pedestrian tunnel for a look at the engine sheds and the yard.  Noted. 

Esk estuary from Abraham's Quay

When we got back to Whitby, the town was clearly en fête, with huge crowds there for the folk music festival, which included morris dancers and all sorts of other diversions.  It was also regatta weekend, hence the bunting on the house next door.  Having walked a lot during the day, we were content just to amble back to the cottage for a simple bit of supper.

On Sunday we took a look round a car boot sale, where there was also a good fresh veg stall.  That apart, it was largely the usual tat, so, although Annie bought a few bits and pieces, I stayed close to my bawbees as usual.

Saltburn funicular and pier

Monday saw us heading for Saltburn, where we walked the length of the pier (at low tide, unfortunately) and then took the funicular up the cliff.  Interesting to watch the down car taking on just enough water to counterbalance the up one.  As we walked along the front, a class of surfing pupils were being drilled in paddling out and then standing up on their boards.  We only saw the dry land exercises, but they were going out on the water as we went for our walk at the higher level.

Attractive town, with some elegant buildings looking out to sea from the cliff.  There's a bit of seaside tawdriness here and there, but it's very limited.  We walked down through an attractive park from the bandstand to the car park, pausing for tea at a little tearoom on the way.  The tea was brought in hopelessly dribbly pots, and the milk jug was perhaps just worse, but the tea was fine, and both the service and the non-matching selection of bone china were rather charming.

Heather at Moorsholm

Thence up on to the high moor, pausing to admire the heather again, then over to Egton Bridge for a pub lunch and yet more tea at the home of a friend of Annie's. 

Fireworks marked the end of the Whitby Regatta on Monday evening.  Excellent 15-minute show, clearly visible from just outside the cottage, though far enough away for quite a delay between the flash and the bang!

We were mightily lucky with the weather.  Apart from a sharp shower in Pickering just as we arrived, it was fine and mild much of the time.  As we left on Tuesday, it was just starting to drizzle, and we had a wet, foggy drive across the moors to York.  We were there in plenty of time for our train to London, so nursed a cup of tea for the hour or so in a cafe overlooking the station.  The train was another old HS125, but operated by a different company, and rather better fitted out.  We expected to be joined at our four-seat bay by a passenger getting on at Newark, but as the drinks trolley was between him and us at Newark, he took an unreserved seat further down the coach, leaving us with plenty of elbow room.  The rest of the journey was unremarkable - bus, another train and a taxi - and the weather had improved steadily as we came south.  

As usual, however much we enjoyed the trip away, it was good to be back to our familiar, spacious surroundings.  The garden had been busy: the rudbeckias are finally putting up a good display, and it looks as if we might even have a few courgettes to eat before long.  The grass has also grown, of course, but I'll defer the pleasure of dealing with that for a day or two.

A social life? Us??

Unusually for us, we've been out and about quite a bit lately.  We had a very wet trip to London on Wednesday to meet Annie and her friend and ex-colleague Helen, both of whom were in London for a day trip to see the BP portrait competition entries at the National Portrait Gallery.  We set off in fine weather (but with waterproofs at the ready), and our train ran into heavy rain at Sevenoaks.  (It's quite common for there to be a substantial change in the climate either side of River Hill.)  A lot of people had clearly paid no attention to the forecast, and got thoroughly soaked in consequence.  The signalling gear at London Bridge seemed also to be water-soluble, and our train was diverted into Cannon Street, of blessed memory.  This slightly longer than usual journey was not helped by a noisy family group on a day trip to the capital.  I wish I understood why some people think the entire carriage needs to be entertained by their inane prattling.  Our tickets let us use a rather smart District Line Wimbledon train to the Embankment - the new rolling stock is light and airy, with full-size connectors between carriages.  A far cry from my commute from Parson's Green in the 1970s.

Next, a wet walk up Villiers Street, where we paused for lunch, then on up to the gallery to wait for Annie to arrive from King's Cross.  The exhibition was quite crowded, but included a lot of excellent stuff in a range of styles.  Too many portraits were far too photographic for our liking.  The technical excellence is undeniable, but we prefer to see a spot of artistic interpretation.  Of the tightly drawn pieces, the artists had generally worked wonders with the lighting, with two large group paintings looking almost three-dimensional.  Glad to say that we disagreed vigorously with the choice of winner and runners-up!  We took a look at the permanent collection of C19 and 20 portraits, many of which were rather gloomy.  HM is reputed to hate her portrait by Annigoni - we're with her on that.

On Thursday, which turned into a beautiful day, we had lunch with Richard and Claire in Tonbridge.  It's some time since we've been to their place, in which they have been investing a bit recently.  Claire has redesigned their small garden so that it's now made up of distinct compartments of great charm.  They have extended the garage to make a studio for Claire, who has been doing some fine work in mosaics.  Richard prepared lunch, starting with a tray of delicious tapas, served on a huge platter that he had turned himself from a piece of plane.  They are such a creative couple!

Yesterday we had a slightly more boisterous lunch at Dawn's - another fine day, and eighteen of us sat down to a fine buffet at a couple of long tables in the garden.  The day degenerated into a raucous boules tournament, and the wine was flowing pretty liberally when we left around 5:30 (yr obed servt, being driver, toyed with a glass and a half over the first two hours and then stuck to water).  Great to be out of doors, but the hay fever is up a notch, unfortunately.  Them's the hazards.

Another lunch date today with Christine and Jon at East Peckham.  At this rate, we'll soon forget how to cook!  More fresh air next weekend, but at the seaside in North Yorkshire.  (We're going by train, our more recent attempts at longish journeys through English traffic having been quite simply hellish.  Annie will pick us up at York.)  We'll just about have time to get our breath back from that before we motor off to Switzerland and France for a couple of weeks.  We're strong believers in presenting a moving target.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the water heating has been a bit hit and miss of late.  Tepid showers yesterday, and no hot water at all in the tank early this morning.  And yet the boiler kicked in again normally at 06:30, and has heated the tank.  We had the same experience last weekend, and called in Jez the plumber.  Just like the tooth that stops aching as soon as you get it to the dentist, the boiler performed impeccably when Jez was here on Tuesday.  The programmer appears to know what day it is, but doesn't appear to offer different programmes for different days.  I may be obliged to RTFM (Read The Manual).  But then, maybe it just feels entitled to a rest on Fridays and Saturdays.

Deep sigh from a BT Pensioner

I thought I'd got it all wrapped up on Tuesday, and archly warned Martyn to expect a mystery parcel on Wednesday.  All this was for a new phone for himself, ordered - or so I thought - via the on-line chat function offered by my ever-loving ex-employer. 

It was therefore not a great delight to find, on returning yesterday evening in heavy traffic and pouring rain from an unusually dreadful day at the hobby in my less preferred location, that no parcel had arrived.  At this point I thought it best not to build disproportionate expectations, so spilled the beans as to the contents of the said mystery parcel.  Nothing having been heard here by this morning, I went back on the chat service, connected purportedly to the same 'Christian' I'd communicated with on Tuesday, who advised 'It'll be delivered today'.  Some hours later, having heard nothing, I called customer services, gave them my account number, and learned that there was no trace of the order. 

Well, after over twenty minutes of music on hold and blocked incoming calls, I think I've placed the order again with a living, breathing person in Canterbury.  I have not yet received a confirmatory email.  I may feel tempted to write to the person who signs the matesy letters to us when she's trying (and failing) to sell us banal TV sport packages. 

I have just had a call from someone in an overseas call centre purporting to be BT, and seeking to validate the delivery address, all of which I'd already given on ordering.  Hung up.  SMS some minutes later, asking me to call an 0800 number to confirm the delivery address, despite all this being linked to the account number I'd quoted.  Done, with the best grace I could summon.  Watch this space.

What else to report?  A wet washing day, and a trip into town this morning to order up some new glasses, since my current ones are now badly scratched after less than two years' service.  The sight test and examination revealed no new awfulnesses and, predictably, an improvement in my distance vision and a deterioration in the reading prescription.  Auld age disnae come its lane.  The new glasses are to be about half what I paid last time, with a free pair of half-moon readers thrown in.  This time I've chosen a frame that won't dig furrows in my temples, I hope.  We'll see when they are dispensed whether I 'should have gone to' the big name I went to this time.

On our travels again

Thursday 

This time it's a quick trip to Scotland to revisit places I knew in childhood and adolescence, and to catch up with friends.  Our travelling was about as fraught as usual, even though we'd decided to fly from London City.  The taxi collected us in good time, and despite post-flooding hold-ups, we were in good time for our train.  The plan, encouraged by the national rail enquiries web site, was to change at London Bridge for Cannon Street, then walk to the Bank and pick up the toy town railway.  Only when we got off the train did we find that there are no trains from London Bridge to Cannon Street at the moment.  The sensible thing then was to get the tube to Canning Town and change.  The crowded, noisy tube train dumped us a stop short, at North Greenwich, where we'd to go up and over to another platform to continue our journey.

At City Airport, we got seats at a window in the departure hall, so we could watch the few comings and goings.  Unfortunately, we were next to a couple of bimbos who seemed to be making a movie of some kind.  We found only later that we could have had quieter seats nearer to the departure gate. We were quite impressed by the aeroplane, which was an Embraer 190.  There was much more leg room than we are used to in the low-cost offerings. Perhaps it was because of the steep landing and take off paths at city airport, but the departure seemed rather more appropriate to a fighter jet than an airliner.  Some interesting fellow passengers: a demanding Indian Grandma who kept changing her seat, including displacing that colourful politician, the Lord Reid of Cardowan, who reacted with more self-control than in his earlier years.  All good fun.

We had booked our hire car through a consolidator as usual.  Sometimes it works well, others less so.  There was a long wait at the airport for the shuttle bus, and a bit of drama when there were more passengers than seats.  On arrival at the depot, it turned out to be an unmade site with a couple of portakabins.  The car we'd booked had come in damaged, so the best they could do for us is a huge Korean seven-seater.  Well, it goes, steers and stops, and changes gear by itself, but, like the beat-up Clio we had in Gran Canaria, our friends would probably rather we didn't park it on their drive.  .

A slow drive round Glasgow at rush hour, but at least it didn't start raining till we were well out of town, and the rain had just about stopped by the time we reached our digs. We walked out in search of basics, and rather over-ordered a Chinese takeaway.  We ate most of it, but have to think of something imaginative to do tonight with yesterday's cold flied lice.  [Later: Martyn made a tasty pilaff with diced bacon and mushrooms.]

Today we took a ride into Dundee with mixed success.  My watch strap started falling apart yesterday when I took it off at the airport: the pins securing the watch to the strap had weakened and bent.  Running repairs with a door key kept it in place till today, when a friendly jeweller replaced both pins for £4, with the result that it's as good as new again.  

Along at the City Square, they were busily unblocking drains next to the bronzes of Desperate Dan and Minnie the Minx, so we refrained from selfies...   Though our errands were a bit frustrated, it was interesting to see how much has changed, particularly along the waterfront by the old docks - it's all posh pads and Porsches these days, though it's good to see that they have integrated a lot of the original stone buildings into the redevelopment.  The new V&A is coming along apace, but a lot of the waterfront is still behind hoardings.

Our digs are pretty good.  Close to everything in the Ferry, quiet (give or take the nocturnal seagulls) and reasonably well equipped.  I've had to do a bit of amateur sparkying, since two failed bulbs in the kitchen left it rather gloomy, and the recessed light in the shower was dangling loose!  (I only discovered this when, on washing my scalp, my hand encountered a UFO...).  The bathroom is pretty well equipped, with both bath and shower box, and a wc branded 'Utopia'....  

There isn't a proper teapot in the place, but as Brook Street (like so many shopping streets in the country) is now cheek-by-jowl charity shops, the fifth one we tried in the space of five minutes came up with a perfectly decent aluminium pot for £1.99.  Our plan was to leave it as a present to the flat, but it has scrubbed up well, and pours nicely, so we may just take it home.  

Martyn suggested a birthday lunch of Smokie pancakes at Jackie's recommended But 'n Ben in Auchmithie. We were lucky they could fit us in, since the place is very popular.  And rightly so - the pancakes were delicious.  We went via Carnoustie and Easthaven, where we spent a pleasant moment watching the waves breaking on the beach where we were occasionally taken for a treat when I was a child.  The air was much clearer today, so we had good views of the windswept landscape. 

Friday 

Fine sunshine at 05:30-ish wasn't enough to get me up and dressed, which was a shame, since by the time we were up and dressed it was raining.  Again.  Still, we took a walk along to the Castle and back during a dry spell.

Next stop, Dundee Contemporary Arts Centre.  The exhibition held our attention for about five minutes.  Huge canvases, semi-abstract, with interesting and coherent use of colour.  Mais pas ma tasse de thé.  The tea in the café downstairs, par contre, was very good.

Thence to Glamis and Forfar, and back to the Ferry via Kingsmuir (we'd registered that the Forfar-Dundee road was jammed up by road works just inside the ring road).  It would have been better had the sun deigned to make an appearance, but we had some good views across Strathmore to the brooding Grampians, and across the estuary to Fife.

Some of these roads were familiar from the days when Dad used to take me to a disused airfield for driving lessons before I was old enough to use public roads - they stood me in good stead, since I passed after five professional lessons.  Oddly enough, our current digs are two minutes' walk from where I got my pink slip, nearly 50 years ago!

Marco, DCS and Jackie

We were back on time for a fine tapas lunch at Sol y Sombra with Jackie, whom I hadn't seen for more years than it is tactful to reveal.  But since yesterday, we're the same age again, and as former classmates we can't be coy entre nous about age.  We had a lovely chat, full of reminiscences.  After lunch we repaired to Visocchi's for a cup of tea with another classmate, Marco, who, though rather frail, is sharp as a pin, and full of news of many of our contemporaries.  At our age, it becomes depressingly common to compare ailments and enjoy minor glee at how many contemporaries we have survived.  Jackie, I should add, is in rude health, and couldn't compete...

Oddly enough, we were ready to eat again by evening, so took a walk round to M&S to get easy suppers that we could do in the microwave.  For the second time today, our ears were assaulted by the bagpipes.  In the morning, a piper was playing for some reason outside an Indian restaurant in Gray Street, and in the evening, a large group of pipers and drummers was practising in the doctors' car park next to our block.  They were really impressive - but a trifle intrusive later while we were trying to watch the Prom on TV.

Saturday

Sticky moment when we went to fill the tank before leaving Dundee.  Although the fellow at the depot had shown us where to find the filler cap release we just couldn't find it.  But as I rummaged round the floor looking for it, I found a piece of plastic under the mat, and soon spotted the little lever from which it had got kicked off.  Although the car is not unpleasant to drive, and has nice leather seats, a lot of the detailed design inside is pretty cheap and nasty.  for example, you have to look far too far away from the road to read the speedo, and as for the clock, forget it.  And it rattles.

Our drive to Dunoon was pretty unpleasant as far as Crianlarich, since we had rain and poor visibility much of the way.  We paused for cups of tea at the Crianlarich Hotel before pressing on, and were not far off our target by lunchtime.  The A82 down the side of Loch Lomond was pretty busy, and not a nice road on which to meet coaches coming the other way, which we frequently did.

Having said we expected to arrive between 4 and 5, we decided to go on to Inveraray for lunch, then continue south into the Mull of Kintyre, crossing to the Cowal peninsula by ferry from Tarbert.  On this second stretch of the journey we had slightly better views, since the cloud had lifted a bit.  I'd rather forgotten the fine detail of the way to Pam's, and stopped to ask a chap if we were far off West Street.  He had no idea, and it turned out to be the next turn on the right, 100 yard away.

A warm welcome as always from Pam and Geoff, tea, a good natter, a splendid supper and an early night.

Sunday

Dawn from Pam's sitooterie

I was up pretty early, and was rewarded by a magnificent dawn sky, and a little later by the sight of three roe deer just outside the sitooterie.  Very tame, they nibbled away at the yew hedge, but turned their noses up at the yellow capsicums and lavender, the which Pam was grateful to learn.  There's evidently no point planting roses hereabouts - the deer love them!  After breakfast, we opted for a trip across to Bute, and the weather was much kinder to us.  There's a very short ferry crossing from Colintraive, so we went for that one.  Rothesay, though nicely situated on its little bay, looked a bit down at heel.  The Victorian public lavatories, however, are beautifully maintained (even if it now costs eight bob to spend a penny), as are the gardens along the front.  We did a pretty thorough tour of the island, and got fine views across to Arran (which we're reserving for another visit).  We paused for lunch at Ettrick Bay, sitting outside in the warm sunshine.

Mantas, Colintraive

Thence back to the ferry, and a second attempt to find the sculpture park.  There's a lot of interesting stuff there, in a wide range of media. The park is very much worth a visit.  Arranged in the gardens, the landscape and a few buildings scattered round the grounds.  I think my favourite is a shoal of manta rays, executed in steel and suspended from the rafters of the boat house!  Thence up to Strachur, and back down along the side of Loch Eck.

Another happy and convivial evening - Pam had made a superb venison pie, and broke out a couple of bottles of very good Carignan from the Cabardès.  Just goes to show that you can indeed make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

Monday

Loch Awe at Cruachan

Fairly prompt start, since we had decided to head for Oban and the coastal road.  Beautiful day, beautiful scenery.  We paused at the Cruachan power station, which I remember hearing about when it opened in my teens.  It's a pumped storage hydro-electric plant built in a vast man-made cavern in the hillside, and generates electricity by draining water through the turbines from a reservoir up above it.  When demand is low, electricity is used to pump water back up from Loch Awe to the reservoir, ready for when demand picks up.  Elegantly simple idea, but I doubt whether the economics would prove attractive these days.

Thence on to Oban, which has some fine architecture, but rather a lot of touristy shop fronts.  Its port offers connections to a number of the islands, and right next door is a station, offering links to Glasgow at a somewhat relaxed pace.  We stayed only for a cup of tea and to buy sandwiches for lunch, then joined the coastal road southwards.

On the way south, we called in at Arduaine gardens, and sort of followed one of the walks down to the waterside of the Sound of Jura.  Charming place, with some of the bluest hydrangeas I've ever seen.  We'll save the longer walks for another time.  From there we pressed on southwards to Keillmore, which is at the foot of a peninsula off the Mull of Kintyre.  Apart from interesting geology and lovely flora, the area offers good views across the Sound to Islay and Jura.  On a mild, sunny and practically still day, the experience was a delight.  

We paused again at the sea lock at the west end of the Crinan Canal, which greatly shortened the journey for the Puffers on their journeys between Glasgow and the islands.  Like most canals these days, its main, if not exclusive, use is by leisure sailors.  At one point, we were held up at a swing bridge to let a few of them enter a lock.

From there we ambled south again to Tarbert to catch the ferry back.  Once landed, the fun began.   We'd planned to return to Dunoon via Tighnabruaich and Glendaruel.  There were a few 'road ahead closed' signs, starting a few miles out of Tighnabruaich, and, hoping that this might refer to side turnings, we pressed on.  Mistake.  We finished up having to back-track, and head for Glendaruel via Otter Ferry: no small detour, and one that involved a narrow C-road with few passing places.  

By this time, we were getting rather late for supper with Pam, Geoff and their other guests for the evening.  Having taken a lot of photographs during the day, I'd little charge left in the phone.  Somewhat academic, given the lack of coverage up in the hills hereabouts, so I wasn't able to report in until we were five minutes from home.

Oh well, we made it, and enjoyed another convivial evening!  I was mighty ready for bed by 11, though.

Tuesday

We had hoped to be able to report that we'd been out on the water every day of our stay in Dunoon with Pam and Geoff.  Our plan today had been to go for a trip on the paddle steamer Waverley, but unfortunately it had been cancelled.  No notification posted at the pier: a fellow would-be tripper found out via his smartphone.  So back we traipsed, for a relaxing afternoon with our books, iPads and insides of eyelids.  Probably good preparation for our travels tomorrow.

So, we sat in the sitooterie for a while, watching RN and merchant naval vessels out on the estuary for a while.  I'd prepared a simple supper, which we dispatched together before an early night. 

Wednesday

Pouring rain through the early hours, and it didn't let up while we were in Scotland.  We were on the 07:40 ferry to Gourock, depositing Pam and Geoff at a bus stop whence they were to head off to Glasgow to meet friends.   We fuelled and returned the car, then eventually got the shuttle bus to the airport in good time, we thought, for a quick bacon sandwich, as tradition requires, before heading for the gate.  In fact, our 10:50 flight was delayed to 11:55, so that left us time for a proper brunch, since we weren't to arrive in LCY until gone 13:00.  

Replacement E170 at wet Abbotsinch

It turned out that the plane we should have been on had developed a technical fault that couldn't be fixed quickly, so they had to dig around for a replacement.  We finally pushed back after midday, but the driver managed to negotiate a fairly direct approach, and we were on the ground by 13:15, and pleased to find it dry and very mild.  We were at London Bridge in good time for a train shortly after 14:00.  Compare with Gatwick, where it took us over an hour last time just to get out of the airport, admittedly including passport control.  The aeroplane was the smaller E170, which was a bit more cramped than the bigger one we used last week, but still offered more leg room than the low-costers.  So we are confirmed London City Airport and Embraer E-jet fans, you'll gather.

The return home was pretty painless, and in good time for my evening meeting at the CAB.  I had time for a cup of tea and to open the host of birthday greetings that awaited me.  (Perhaps the most startling was one from Miss Leach: a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, with the legend 'Greetings from one old queen to another').  But as the evening wore on, I was conscious that the day had involved journeys in a rental car, a ferry, a shuttle bus, an aeroplane, three trains and a taxi (not to mention a return trip to town in the Ateca, to which I was very happy to return!).

Thursday

Mr Engineer Smith's 70th birthday.  We mark it here with laundry, gardening and, I fear, shopping.  The garden has plainly had quite a lot of rain.  The courgettes need tying up, since some of the fruit appears to be rotting.  We had the first of our French beans last night with supper, and I expect I'll turn out another bag of spuds later today.  The forecast showers should exempt me from grass cutting, with any luck.

Unplanned trip

Monday

The courgettes have started to show some flowers and at least one timid fruit, and the dwarf French beans are looking quite encouraging.  We have given them and the spuds a good feed and a thorough soaking because - guess what? - we're back in Lagrasse.  Our friend Henry, who had become more and more frail in recent months, died last Friday, so we're here for his funeral and committal tomorrow.

The travel was more than usually hellish: a long walk from the car park bus to the North terminal at Gatwick, and an even longer one to the gate.  It is one of the newish ones across the bridge.  To add insult to injury, Sleazyjet was too tight to pay for air bridges either at Gatwick or Toulouse, so we had a lot of stairs to add to our delight at the experience.  The flight itself was OK apart from the proximity of Other People, including a sprog whose parents didn't know to give it something to get it swallowing during climb and descent, and which consequently screamed loud and long.  

Next ordeal was a half-hour queue for passport checks.  Once through that, it was a long walk to the car rental desk, only to find that it was closed, with a notice telling us to back-track to the far end of the furthest car park.  There we found a long queue for the two check-in desks, which were situated in the back of a van.  Well, the good news is that we got a slightly better car than we'd ordered, so the drive was OK.  It's a Fiat Tipo, similar to the one we rented in Tenerife.  Its six gears obstinately fail to change themselves, but we can cope with that for three days.

Tuesday

Not the easiest of days.  A lengthy funeral mass in the local church (in a curious mixture of French, Latin and English), attended by a good 70 friends, family and neighbours.  Next, about 20 of us trooped up to the crematorium at Trèbes, for about 20 minutes of tributes (in English, French and - briefly - Erse), following which the box was wheeled out.  One French mourner was surprised that the family hadn't asked to witness the cremation itself, which is evidently the norm.  I'd been rather dreading being asked to do so, and risking offence by politely declining.

The family and a few neighbours came back here for tea or coffee and biscuits, so the dishwasher is doing its stuff again as I write.  There's drinks and nibbles at one of the Prom cafés tonight: we'll make a token appearance.

Wednesday

Potager on our vines and olives walk, Lagrasse

Sheila was in pretty good shape yesterday evening after a rest in the afternoon, and is heading for Ireland today to spend a bit of time with family.  Our appearance at Lucie's having been somewhat less than token last night, we felt a shade delicate this morning.  To blow out the cobwebs, we went for one of our favourite walks, up the rive gauche past the vines and olives, then back to town across the back of the Abbey.  I haven't done a lot of walking since the knee started playing up a couple of years ago, so, while I was quite without pain, I was definitely short of puff.  Daily walks henceforth.    Toulouse-Blagnac and Gatport Airwick will doubtless contribute tomorrow.

Having decided on an apéro on the Prom after our stroll, we happened upon Henry's first wife, daughter and son-in-law, so spent a pleasant little while comparing hangovers and sharing memories of Henry.  It has of course been a sad occasion, but we leave feeling that we have made a lot of new friends.

Thursday

Traffic held up by soon-to-be-floating gin palace

Not too much in the way of closing down rituals after such a short visit, and I was up early enough to get much of it done before I was fully awake.  We were on the road soon after 09:00, so opted for the old N113, hence less fuel burn and no tolls.  Unmistakeably slower of course, not helped by having to stop and wait while a vast catamaran was trailered through the narrow main street of Pezens.  The last twenty miles to the Toulouse ring road was pretty slow, and the périph was mayhem.  It's always like that around lunchtime, when the good people of Toulouse get the idea of their pre-lunch Porto or pastis.  Lane changes are decided on and executed in a split second, with the occasional signal when the manoeuvre is almost complete.  Total disregard of speed limits, of course.

There was some sort of drama at the car rental place, where a renter was arguing at length in indistinct English ('You are joking, aren't you?') while he and his wife attempted to squeeze their bags into the back of a Fiat 500.  Another route march later, we installed ourselves in the restaurant that looks out across the field.  Not cheap: plat du jour, puddings and a half litre of rosé rushed us 66€.  Still, said plat was not bad - chicken breast served with ratatouille and some nice bread.  We watched quite a few commercial and Airbus landings and take-offs, including prototypes of the new big A350 and little re-engined A319, and a couple of Belugas - they really do appear to defy the laws of physics.

Another trek to the gate, though security was a lot brisker than at Gatwick on the way out.  More drama at the gate: a fellow was pleading to be let on a flight to Amsterdam, after the door had been closed, even dropping to his knees at one stage.  A victim of Toulouse traffic, no doubt.  

Boarding once again involved lots of stairs. This time we had to stand and wait for five minutes or so in a grim concrete stairwell.  Once on board, we found that, yet again, we had a screaming sprog in the row in front of us.  It did at least shut up once we were airborne.  Good views of the Gironde estuary, Cherbourg, the IoW and Portsmouth as we flew in, and we were treated to a 360° sightseeing flight round Haywards Heath. For some reason, once we'd landed, they deployed stairs to the back exit of the plane, and an airbridge at the front.  We were at the back, but opted to wait and leave by the front.  There were about ten zigs and nine zags of queue for passport control.  Question: since the process is fully automated, why were only half the gates functioning?  

The car park bus driver was a graduate of the Alan Sherman school, closing the doors and pulling away when we were three paces from the door, so we had a while to wait among the piss and chewing gum at the bus stop.  It took an hour from landing to driving off, but I guess that's par for the course.

It's always good to be home among our familiar comforts and with a summer garden to look out on.  We both felt that we'd been away far longer than the three days it actually was, but I suppose that two days' travelling, including four airport experiences, and the emotional demands of a church plus crematorium funeral made it seem longer.  

Still, back into the thick of it: I have a day at the hobby today.  No rest for the wicked.