Loch Ness--and golf

Yesterday we had a nice drive around Loch Ness. We stopped at Urquart Castle where Don took this shot.


At the end of Loch Ness is Inverness, and I convinced Don that we should take a walk around the city and do a bit of shopping. Well, Don likes shopping about as much as eating rusty nails, so I convinced him to look around at the historical sites and leave me to my own devices for an hour after which we'd meet at the carpark. I did a bit of shopping, and when I returned to the car, I saw Don inside lovingly caressing a new golf club he'd just bought. And there in the back was a new golf cart! (I'd been renting one for 2 pound a round, so this 20 pound purchase was a good idea, actually). Here's the story on the new club. It's REALLY HARD to get out of a walled bunker here in Scotland. When your ball lands five inches from a four-foot vertical wall, the only way to get it out is pop it up, and Don's Canadian sand wedge, having a 56 degree loft, just wouldn't do it. So he found one with a 64 degree loft on sale for about ten bucks. Anyway, after we returned home, he went golfing at about 5 p.m. (it stays light until 10 p.m. here). When he returned home, he said the new wedge worked wonders in the bunker, but when he tried to use it on the grass, it cost him a stroke so he finished with an 80 instead of a 79. So I say, well don't use it on the grass, to which he replies that he can only have 14 clubs in his bag, and so he'd left his old wedge at home, to which I reply, who says you can only have 14 clubs in your bag, to which he says, well, that's the rule of tournament play, to which I reply, and exactly which tournament were you in today, to which he says nothing. Is this a guy golf thing? Did I step over the line? How do I get out of those bunkers, you ask? Simple. I take my putter and run the ball up the wall. What's the big deal?

As promised, here's the photo of neeps, tatties, and haggis:


My cousin Jessie and her husband Alex arrive today. They'll be staying in Embo, and I'm hoping that they will tell us a bit more about the Sir John A. MacDonald connection, and perhaps some stories about my grandmother's life in Embo at the turn of the century.

INTENDED FOR A MATURE AUDIENCE: PHOTO OF NEIGHBOUR TAKING A BATH

Slow news day

Not much to say today. We went for a drive to the Tarbac Light House on the east coast yesterday, but didn't see the much-anticipated dolphins or whales. Most of our day trips involve driving along one-track roads. When another car approaches, you (or they) have to duck into a passing place. Don is getting good at this, but he's still rusty driving through Tain. The road has two lanes, but cars are allowed to park along one side, so really there's just one lane. If you're driving down the side with no parked cars, piece of cake. However, if you're on the other side, you have to keep tucking in between parked cars in order to let the cars on the other side pass. Don calls this "Dodgecar." I think he's actually turned it into a sport.
On our trip out, we had an excellent pub lunch in Balintore. Don had "tatties, neeps and haggis" which translates to "potatoes, turnips, and sheep-organs-stewed-in-a-sheep-stomach." (My apologies to all you haggis-lovers out there, but it just isn't my cup of tea.) Don assured me it was wonderful. I'll have a picture tomorrow. Forgot my thumb drive again!!

A bit of snow—and a sad story

I decided to stay in yesterday because it was very cold with the odd flurry. Don, as ever, went golfing and was only detained on two holes where he had to take shelter from the hail. While he was away, I went around the corner to the butcher and bought a small roast of beef (silverside, a really nice cut) and my favourite teacake, Golden Syrup cake. After figuring out the cooker (oven) here, I managed to cook a delicious medium-rare roast. I had a nice text from home: Kathleen informed me that she’d passed her G driving test, so congrats to you, sweetie!
Don’s golf course is in Tain which is 15 minutes from Dornoch. Because a long stretch of water (Dornoch Firth) lies between these two communities, residents were forced to take a long drive to the end of the firth in order to get from one to the other. Then, in 1990, a bridge was built between Tain and Dornoch, and this shaved more than 30 minutes off the trip. Two hundred years ago, residents used to take a ferry from one side to the other—the Meikle Ferry. In 1809, a severely overcrowded ferry left from the Dornoch side taking residents to the market in Tain. Although conditions were calm, the boat took on water and 99 people drowned that day. Only 12 were saved. Below is a picture of Dornoch Firth taken from the Tain side at low tide.

Ullapool--and golf

Yesterday we drove west to Ullapool. It’s a beautiful seaside town with a lovely harbour. You can catch a ferry to the Hebrides from Ullapool. After a bit of shopping, we stopped in at a pub where Don had fish and chips, and I had beef that had been stewed in “An Teallach” ale and served in a giant Yorkshire pudding “bowl.” For dessert, we had an apple and cherry crumble served in a teacup with hot custard on the side (pictured). To counteract all those calories, I guess I’ll have to go golfing tomorrow!


British television continues to be entertaining. On last night’s episode of Britain’s Got Talent, there was an 80-year-old great-grandma who had an amazing set of lungs. Here's the Youtube link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gfqeyq0xJQ. Sorry, you'll have to paste the link in. And then on Antiques Roadshow was the story of a carrier pigeon named Billy who served with the RAF. In 1942 he was on a plane that was shot down in France, but before the crash, he was set free with the plane’s coordinates tied to his leg. He flew 250 miles back to England in a snowstorm, and arrived the next day near collapse. He received the Medal of Gallantry for his war effort! He was 11 months old!!!

I’ve been meaning to describe a particularly interesting hole at Tain golf course. The 11th hole is called “The Alps” and features two huge mounds hiding a green deep below on the other side. Here’s a picture of me in the middle of the mounds looking down at the green. Another name for this hole is Dolly Parton (I’m serious). Don has been parring this hole recently, but I keep getting stuck in a huge bunker on the other side of the cleavage. Anyway, Don shot an 81 and I shot a – OH NO, FIRE DRILL!!!

Neighbours

Hey, I've just noticed your comments! I tried to reply, but I can't see my comments, so rest assured, I appreciate them. It's nice to hear voices from home.

Yesterday I wanted to shop, so knowing Don's disdain for that activity, I sent him golfing. He was only too happy to oblige. I found a cute little store around the corner where I bought a bunch of postcards. Then it was off to the Post Office for stamps, and home to compose.

I promised to introduce you to my neighbours. The first picture is of Jack (left) and Sam (right). They belong to Sally and Peter, the folks we're renting the cottage from. The next is their duck (we haven't been introduced yet, so I don't know his name. I'll call him Nigel).

The third are three of the birds that live across the street in a wildlife park. Their names are, starting from the top and going clockwise, Chris, Dwayne, and Bill.

Election (and golf)

It turns out there was no battle for the telly last night. I went to bed early after an exhausting day, and election results were still coming in at 9 a.m. this morning! There is fear of a “hung” parliament (minority government), but I don’t know why. It’s worked well for Harper for the last five years!

Yesterday we drove two hours north until we hit the North Atlantic and could go no further. The landscape was spectacular all the way up, along the northern coast, and back down again. We reached the northernmost golf course in Britain (Durness) at lunch. We ate a hearty Scottish lunch at a pub. Don, as usual, had the Scottish breakfast. In the picture, have a look at the egg; it’s sitting on a giant mushroom. Of course, included in the full breakfast is tea, coffee, or beer ;-). We decided to golf despite the fact that it was 11 Celcius and much colder with the wind chill. I had on about seven layers of clothing. This nine-hole course worked on the honour system. The clubhouse was open, but no one was inside. You just signed a book, left your money, and golfed. We were the only ones on the course! This was a course built in the middle of a sheep farm by three local men. As we hit our drives, the sheep and lambs would scatter. Our balls often landed in the middle of sheep poop. We had to step over the electric fencing around the greens in order to putt. I got a shock a couple of times, but that was because of my score, not the fence. The last hole was a par 3 over a cliff. Don hit it on the green, but I was so afraid of hitting it into the water that I almost hit the club house far to the right! Don shot a 40 and I shot a --- ooh, there’s the kettle. Gotta go!

I’m back. So after that amazing golf day we drove home a different route through the mountains. I was pretty chilled from those North Atlantic winds, but lo and behold, the Wonder Car had heated seats, so my butt was pretty happy. Don discovered that Wonder Car gets 50 miles per gallon (diesel), so he was pretty happy too.
Later today I’ll try to get some pictures of my neighbours. I think you’ll find them very interesting!