Leaving The Highlands To Go Back To The Boglands

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Back Then, To The Boglands

Here I am in the basement of the Crieff Hydro Hotel in the e-commerce room. It is our last day and tonight we fly to Gatwick and Alan takes the high road to Hurstpierpoint and I take the low road to Bognor Regis. The fun and frolicks at the Crieff Hydro Hotel are to be gently folded up and away and put in the Grand Holidays I Have Had parts of our brains.

It was such fun here. Alan and I arrived in time to have dinner on Friday, and to work out all the posh things in our room that we don't have in our homes. Like the mountains and play of light on the beautiful rolling hills we could see from our windows. Like the flat screen telly and the big big bath with toiletries in little packets just for us. Like the teeny fridge we could take out of the wardrobe and plug in, for the full cream milk that I carry with me on all journeys to the unknown, in case I can't get the perfect cup of tea. And the wide wide bed which meant Alan could stretch out and ease his troubled limbs (he is 6'3") and I could bounce around like Tigger with glee at being in a posh hotel and everything being clean and tidy and I don't have to do anything at all except use everything and chuck it on the floor because it's Not My Problem.

Alan and I went to see the gorgeous rolling lochs and hills and mountain type things on Saturday. On Sunday, oh joy, we went to see my old old university friends from long ago when I was at Aberdeen University. Have we all changed? No! Not a bit of it. My dear dear friend who is an eminent digital photographer and lecturer was as funny, kind and witty as ever. His lovely girlfriend and he have just had their first baby girl, and she was truly a People Person. Nearly two and speaking a mixture of Danish and English. That wasn't all her own decision, her mother is Danish. Danish Mum made us the nicest meal ever and made us all very welcome. It is wonderful to see Digital Art Friend with such a lovely life. We saw too, our teeny Shetland friend with her husband. Teeny Shetland friend was always beautiful in a fragile, pure kind of way and spoke with a slow lilting Shetland accent that could enchant you for ever. But Teeny Fragile Enchanting Shetland Friend was and is so so clever, and is amongst other things, a Phd. She works in Edinburgh, raises two boys and runs her own business. Fab. And she doesn't look any different to when we were at University in 1750 or thereabouts.

So Alan and I saw my old pals, and I am left full of happiness at the fact that they are all still there, all still absolutely wonderful and still seem to like me. Phew.

Yesterday Mr Bedford and I went on a Highland Safari with Bob. Bob works for the Highland Safari Centre and was craggy, wise, can't be more than about 60 something and wore a kilt. We followed a kilted Scot into the wilds of Somewhere and looked for deer, hares, frogspawn and the Meaning Of Life. Up on those high high hills, with the bitter North wind freezing ones eyeballs, we (or at least, I) felt I was put in my place with the splendour of things. And all the time, Bob wore a kilt. In very bleak moments, when the wind and cold made us think of frostbite in all the places that were covered, let alone uncovered (uncovered = eyes, nose and bits of cheek), Bob put on a hat. What a man.

I must go now, the hotel will log me out in a few minutes. I have booked a round of golf with Alan Tiger Bedford this morning, Glasgow this afternoon and Bognor tonight. Ach weel the noo.