Saturday 16th February 2002. Eddie and Crag discuss cardboard
in an animated fashion. Martin and Joe play snooker, the table is
plastic and about 450 x 250mm. You, dear reader, may wonder
where, and why, this bollox is happening.
It all started many years ago. 40 to be precise when a certain
Mrs Hartley give birth, against better advice it must be said, to
child. This was no ordinary child. He was special (as in he's not
an idiot, he's special).
But in the more immediate history it began at about 6:30am Sat 16
Feb 2002 when Lindsey and I set off in the Jordan for a long
weekend at Applecross, Big Scotland. The reason? to celebrate
Joe's coming of senality in the company of Serena, Jo, Morag,
Eddie, Craig, Rick and, of course, Martin.
The trip north is strangely frightening, Lindsey is enjoying the
drive, I'm griting my teeth and taking up religion. it seems to
work and 10 hours later we arrive at Applecross, Big Scotland. We
meet people we haven't see for ages, get a little wasted and head
pubwards. Things don't get any better. A pool table (full size,
not plastic) featues, Eddie goes off to play the locals - bit of
a pool demon our Eddie. He gets roundly thrashed and comes back
muttering abusive comments about "drunken oafs" just as
the pub goes silent. We survive this faus paux and after food and
few more beers head back to the house which brings me, somewhat
pissed, up to the present. They are still playing silly games as
I type this. Serena comments "the croggie is on the back of
a chopper", nobody knows what she is talking about, which is
followed by a large and spectacular "whoof". Joe has
thrown a lighter onto the fire. It isn't getting any better.
Sunday 17th February Wake up to grey skies and drizzle
although this soon sorts itself out and it looks like we're in
for a good one. People scarper off in various directions each
doing their own thing, Lindsey and I take a small walk up the
glen, get muddy and watch some deer.
Evening comes and various people head to the pub to watch
football, the start of which is my call to leave. Back at the
house Serena is putting the finishing touches to her huge tea in
anticipation of the footie peoples return. And very nice tea it
is too.
Monday 18th February Dull grey sogginess seems to be the order
of the day, to be expected at this time of the year I suppose. I
suggest a drive up to Gairloch so that I can show Lindsey the
mountains, the chance for her to point the Jordan up the
legendary Gairloch-Kinlochewe is purely coincidental.
The rains continue with sleety interludes, the mountains are lost
in the murk and Gairloch is eventually reached without ever
exceeding the "complimentary bus-pass" limit. Gairloch
is mostly closed but we did manage to find an open hotel for
lunch, good grub too.
Back at Applecross the only option is to light the fire and
eventually go to the pub for beer and tea. At this point Serena
remembers she has several fruit pies back at the house but no
custard. The Applecross Inn comes to our rescue and provides us
with a take-out of cream and custard. Ace place Scotland.
Tuesday February 19th And it's time to go home. So of course the weather is glorious with spectacular views across to Skye... I assure Lindsey that the Applecross Pass will be passable. The higher we go the more interesting it gets until we catch up with and follow the snowplough over the top. This for me is the highpoint of the return trip, after which it gets scary as Lindsey decides to play with the twisties and the vtec thingy. Despite nearly 400 miles of such girlish enthusiasm we do make it home safely, my nerves excepted.
I guess this means 2002 has now officially started.