Making up for it

It helped that today was beautiful. Chilly wind, but beautiful. And it always helps that we live in a beautiful part of the world, and that it's too early for tourists. After the disappointment of the missed holiday, we'd settled on today for a bit of escapism, my pal and I, taking our other halves (do we think of the properly spelled plural when talking of marital?) to ensure the full experience could be enjoyed in a suitably carefree fashion.

The occasion was lunch in the George Hotel, in Inveraray. It's pretty ancient - the bit we were in apparently dates from 1770 - and has a reputation for good cooking. The drive up from Dunoon is distractingly picturesque, though I always find the sun through the trees by the roadside disturbing to my equilibrium, and takes us about an hour. We were sitting next to a log fire, in a corner which meant there weren't people passing us, and had the best fish and chips I've had in a long time. There were also olives, home-made bread, olive oil, olives, sticky toffee pudding, and a couple of glasses of Malbec ...and by the time we'd finished I was stiff with food and felt more relaxed than I have in ages.

After that there was no way I was going to fold myself back into the car until I'd had a walk, so we wandered along the backs of the buildings that line the road south and on to the south, discovering where most of the people of Inveraray actually live - not in the historic white and black houses of the 18th century New Town, but in a whole village of new builds that extend up the hillside. There was a field full of coal black sheep. 

We came back along the main road for the views of the loch and the town, so the collage shows (top R) the view of the historic town and the bell tower of the Episcopal Church (the tower owes its existence to one Duke Neil and has a famous ring of bells); the puffer Vital Spark tied up at the pier, and (bottom R) a bus shelter designed to fit in with the rest of the town architecture. The top left photo shows our fish and chips arriving, as well as the 18th century room and the rather migraine-inducing fairy lights from which there seems to be no escape. (A recent addition; I don't like them).

We drove home through the ridiculously picturesque early evening, with the sun setting at the end of the loch and the snow-capped tops of Beinne Ime and its surrounding hills lording it over the long straight of road off which we turn to come home to Cowal. We may not have made it to Madeira, but today we stepped out of our usual lives and played at holidays.

Normal angst will return tomorrow ...