Just sat down with a Highland Park single malt and it’s seductive properties are making me wonder why I started writing this when my attention should be elsewhere. Back in a short (or maybe not so short) while.
It’s now a day later – that’s a serious seduction. This is a whisky which is distilled in the Orkney Islands and I have discovered to my very pleasant surprise that it is available at our local Uncle Dan’s in Brisbane. Oh joy.
The reason I have been able to sample this drop is because our hosts at the Cawdor House B&B in Nairn have provided a whisky bar honour system arrangement. How civilised is that? This gives me a perfect opportunity to mention our hosts of the past week as this is our last day in Scotland. So, to Jan at Beaches in Ayr, Toby and Bev (a couple of Aussies) at Mansefield House in Fort William, Agnes at Hazel Bank on the Isle of Skye and Andy and Anika at Cawdor House, many thanks for making our trip to Scotland memorable and enjoyable. And thanks Andy for allowing me to sample the aforementioned Highland Park – one of those unexpected pleasures that we live for.
They’ll probably never read this but you never know. On a cold miserable Highlands winter’s day, one of them, with nothing better to do, may type the name of their establishment into Google and there on page 412 will be a link to this blog.
Now back to said blog.
Yesterday we travelled from the Isle of Skye to here, Nairn near Inverness. On our way we got lost in Fort Augustus because I forgot to look at the compass in the car. We needed (I thought) to cross from the right side of Loch Ness or its southern equivalent to the left side for the trip north. After five traverses of the town and wondering why the satnav kept taking us in the opposite direction to what we thought we wanted, I realised we had travelled south into Fort Augustus and not north – duh!
Then we stopped at the Loch Ness Visitor’s Centre and were told why every sighting and theory regarding the monster does not stand up to even (in some cases) the most cursory scrutiny. Way to kill your business. I always had Nessie up there with Santa and the Tooth Fairy as romantic fantasy figures but there’s no Centre for the Debunking of Santa Claus is there.
Next stop Inverness. The traffic is as bad as Bangkok. That’s all you need to know.
Today we found a pub. Also, we visited some wonderful places – the very solemn Culloden Moor, site of the last major battle on British soil in 1746 which the Jacobites who were mostly and nominally Scots lost resoundingly to the mostly and nominally English. Incidentally we also visited Fort George, built in the 1750’s and 1760’s mostly to help quell any future Jacobite uprising which never came. There was a reenactment of scenes from the TV series Outlander being performed. And the people watching were still cheering for the Jacobites. That’s loyalty for you. I’m also reminded of an old adage regarding doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. If you don’t know about Outlander, look it up. Or not – suit yourself.
But yes. We found a pub – the Cawdor Tavern. I have previously commented about the scarcity of pubs up here. So we had to go in and sample their wares which were more than adequate. A modicum of confidence in Scotland was restored but I have to say Jocks, you’re about 5000 behind Ireland at this stage.
While on the subject of Cawdor, those of you with a smattering or English Lit may recognise the linkage with Shakespeare, specifically Macbeth who aspired to be and eventually became (by nefarious means) the Thane of Cawdor. We visited the castle and said hello in passing to the Dowager Duchess who still lives there and looks nothing like you would imagine Lady Macbeth to look. She wasn’t even carrying a dagger.
Now we all consider Scots to be quite dour (apart from Billy Connelly) but the person who wrote the commentary about the various rooms and features in Cawdor Castle was either me or someone with a rather unusual piss-taking sense of humour. So we read about the maid whose job it was (ostensibly) to warm the duke’s bed and how British Rail could learn from the Duke’s train time keeping and many more nuanced comments which I can’t remember now because it’s quite late.
I’m going to finish today’s entry with a bit of political commentary. Scotland wants to be independent. I suspect this is one of those all care and no responsibility independence plans, as in they want to be masters of their own destiny but want the English to pay for it.
And get away with it they will have to because the Highlands comprises no manufacturing, a few kelp farms, logging and tourism. So there is very little wealth generation up here. The upside is that consequently the requirement for scenery destroying windmills to provide planet saving power is at a minimum. But they are still making their insidious way into this pristine landscape like so many triffids. But I digress (as usual). Regular readers will be aware of my unhinged hatred of these monstrosities.
And I’m going to finish with another non-sequitur. Why are a bunch of skirt wearing kelp farmers considered so tough as the Highlanders undoubtedly are? I’ve lived here for a week, in summer. And I don’t wear skirts. Even in an Australian summer. Enough said.