Scottish Sojourn - 17th to 19th October

Autumn is probably the loveliest time to be in northern Britain. And the loveliest part of northern Britain in autumn could quite possibly be the Speyside region in Scotland. Over the weekend we had the good fortune to judge for ourselves.

Unfortunately I remembered to leave the camera at home, so you will have to make do with my largely inadequate descriptions to conjure up an image of the charm and tranquility of this part of the world.

I made an early dash from work on Friday and, after pausing briefly at home to arrange matters to Domino's liking and picking up some supplies from the fridge, I picked Maria up with a full hour and a half to get to the train station at York. What could possibly go wrong? Suffice it to say that we made the platform, disheveled and cranky, with at least 30 seconds to spare.

I won't go into the details of the train pricing in the UK. Frankly, you probably wouldn't believe it if I told you. But we found that for our journey from York to Edinburgh on this occasion it was actually cheaper to book first class. I didn't need much encouragement to do so, and we travelled to Edinburgh in style, passing the two and a quarter hours sipping our complimentary tea and coffee (mine was particularly nice about my hair), and munching our way through the supplies I had judiciously snarffled from the fridge earlier.

We arrived in Edinburgh in high spirits and met up with Shaun outside Haymarket station. The next part of the journey was not quite as luxurious. Imagine for a moment what it would be like to be stuffed into a two door VW Polo with three other sturdily built people and luggage for four for a weekend away. By strange coincidence, that's exactly what it was like for the drive from Edinburgh to Annabel's parent's house in Kinross, north of Edinburgh. Fortunately this was a mere 30 mile drive including a view of the Forth rail bridge from the road bridge.

In Kinross we were assailed by three dogs and Annabel, all of whom piled into Annabel's mother's estate with Annabel's friend Lindsay, while Shaun, Maria and I retreated to Annabel's car for the 100 mile journey to Tontearie. This journey, interrupted only briefly for a stop at a chippy, passed in what was classed as "fair conditions" (this being Scotland, "fair" meant driving rain with occasional deer hazards). However it was dry and brisk when we arrived late in the evening.

We settled in to our weekend retreat with drink and a good sit down in front of the wood burning stove. It occurs to me that the rise of television and the general deployment of central heating may have had a causal relationship. When wood burning fires became less common, I imagine that people found they needed something to occupy their vision on winter evenings. Regardless, it never ceases to amaze me how alluring is the presence of a wood fire, a treat for all the senses. Except for taste obviously. But then taste and smell are supposed to be approximately the same thing aren't they? I seem to have digressed...

We awoke, first thing the following afternoon, to our first real view of the countryside in which we found ourselves. The house in which we stayed was once a farmer's cottage and is nestled within a working cattle farm within the Speyside region, south of Inverness. The narrow, winding roads thereabouts take you through forests of gentle aspect and are furnished with road signs reminding you that its likely that you will be killed hitting one of the deer which roam in seeming abundance. The various shades of green, gold, red and brown foliage, whipped up by the bracing winds, swirl around, making you feel like you are in an advertisement for an expensive German car. And when you stop to look over the loch nearby, you have to look around to make sure you don't end up in anyone's post card photograph, so tranquil and perfect is the cold, clear lake under the cold clear sky. The cottage has recently been extended with a conservatory, offering uninterrupted views of the green pastures and beyond to the forested hills, seemingly clad in gold and mountains, grey and rocky above the winter snow line.

Into this impossibly blessed landscape we were propelled by the motive force of three excitable canines. Over the fertile hills and through the fields we tramped, making our own path and finding creative ways of overcoming barbed wire. The right to roam is one of Britain's more charming affectations, and it gives you a real sense that farmers are really just caretakers, looking after the landscape and passing it on to the next generation. Well it gives me that sense. I don't think I'll go looking for scottish cattle farmers to try out my idea.

The only other adventure to be had that fine Saturday was a trip into the nearby town. Whilst the womenfolk browsed the offerings at the deli and butchers, Shaun and I browsed the camping/adventure shops. It makes one feel very hardy and adventuresome looking through their range of thermals and waterproofs and boots and such. Trying out the walking poles made me feel particularly active. And having got that out of our systems, and with the womenfolk laden down with cheeses and various other food stuffs, we returned to the cottage for some serious indulgence.

Conservative MP Michael Gove wrote in the Times over the weekend that "the three things you can't economise on are wine, chocolate and socks". He was nearly right. I think I have economized enough on socks over the years that there must be a secret fortune owed to me somewhere around the place. And frankly I can take or leave chocolate (he says over the howls of dissent from the sweeter smelling slightly more than half of the population). He was dead on about wine of course. But how could he have so flagrantly forgotten cheese! To refer to your average supermarket cheddar as cheese in the same breath as a fine, matured or smoked Wendsleydale or a caramelized onion cheddar from Arran, is to seriously mislead and may lead to unexpected haughtiness in your vicinity (at least from this quarter).

So we tucked into some lovely grub that evening, including some wonderful cheese, some delightful venison (not the result of careless driving I might add) all washed down with a couple of perfectly serviceable bottles of big 14 reds. Many of you have probably heard me say that I simply cannot fall asleep sitting up unless I am driving. Well, a few good glasses of red after a bracing walk, a nice meal and a log fire complete with a warm dog on my feet seems to provide the stimulus. I'm not sure how I could arrange that for my long haul flights, although as the only carrier who probably wouldn't notice me setting fire to the seat in front of me, QANTAS could be an option at the moment.

The following day was filled with the sweet sorrow of our parting, first from the cottage, and then from Shaun, Annabel and Lindsay. As we boarded our train from Edinburgh back to York (via Carlisle of all places due to engineering works) we felt so refreshed from our weekend that we decided to buy the weekend, first class upgrade and go home in the style in which we would like to become accustomed.

As a side note, I would like to add that, to my surprise, the service in first class was, if anything, even more surly than in cattle class. I will never understand why British people can't be nice when they sell you a sandwich. Oh well.

If you have managed to make it to the end of my rambling account, well done - 10 out of 10 and a koala stamp, as Philip Adams would say. Until I have something interesting to write about, take care.