Kintyre

Bright blue skies after last night's thunderstorm as we set off for a drive around the Kintyre Peninsula.

Kids love beaches. This one looks across to the tiny island of Gigha and even Heather gave in to her inner child (not cool to be seen larking around like a loony when you're 16) and played on the sands with the two boys. A couple of dead crabs and some other unidentifiable creatures offered to her on the end of sticks later though and she gave up and headed back to safety.

Continued down the west coast of Kintyre and stopped off at Campbeltown, the main town down this way with a population around 5000. Paul McCartney has a farm nearby and the song Mull of Kintyre was inspired whilst he lived around this way in the 1970s. Me though? I prefer the song with the chorus;

Oh! Campbeltown Loch, Ah wish ye were whisky!
Campbeltown Loch, Och Aye!
Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were whisky!
Ah wid drink ye dry.

Had a look in the loch. Didn't look anything like whisky in there today though.

Drove back up the east coast on the single track roads that fair keep you on your toes and planned a stop off for some coffee and scones near Carradale. We reached the end of the road at a little hotel parked up around the back in amongst some free-roaming chickens and stepped inside a deserted reception. I rang the service bell and we waited for someone to arrive. No-one did. We looked in the couple of public rooms on the ground floor and even in the kitchen just off the dining room. Still no-one around (though Radio Two was playing in the background). After about five minutes and with most of our party of seven having used the facilities we started to get a bit freaked out. This wasn't helped by us starting to talk about the film 'The Wicker Man' (the original one with Edward Woodward not the rubbish remake with Nicholas Cage) or the fact that the old clocks around the place started to chime. Decided to make a hasty exit before anyone appeared which was now made more difficult as Euan had taken up residence now in the 'library' after his initial number one had doubled in value. Even as the lone dog watched us leave and the chickens clucked around the cars no-one on two legs could be seen. Half expected to see a figure wearing a blood splattered apron and shaking a butcher's knife in the rear view mirror as we sped off.

Forewent the scones and coffee and had some whisky instead.

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