Scottish men, it's a skirt and you bloody well know it
With the benefit of hindsight, choosing the A68 for the journey home may have been a mistake. Within seconds of turning off the Edinburgh ring road, I hit bank holiday traffic, tractors, Sunday drivers, coach parties and long steep climbs - oh, and Christine the Hellbitch Honda started leaking oil like a sieve and seriously overheating, that car is seriously on Deathwatch. Having said that, milage hit 150 thousand during the trip north, and it was 350 'odd miles each way. Thus the anticipated five hour trip home was more like nine, with associated stops to pick up more oil, rest the engine, panic about coolant levels, and a couple of hours for a sanity break with my aforementioned tailweight, Miss J and her excellent other half (thanks for the eggs mate, as usual they're things of beauty, almost a shame to cook 'em!). Popped in on NB for a small bevvy on the way home, then off to my pit and a day of chores to come. And I'm not repeating the "what chores" gag, at least not today....
Mind you, the scenery was spectacular. Stopped to photograph a rather neat viaduct at one point, would have stopped to snap the moors at the English Border but I've a feeling they'd work well at sunset, and anyway, I'd only just overtaken a coach after a mile long hairpin steep climb, and was genuinely afeared for the survival of the remainder of my engine. Not the sort of road you want to be stranded on. I shall stroll back in summer with an empty datacard and a more reliable vehicle.
So.... the Scottish trip itself. Was invited up by my mate of many years standing Kaz, to keep her company at a family wedding, the hell that these things can be. So, loaded up the funbuggy; left a pile of catfood for he who must be brushed and loved who's to be left in the care of my nice neighbour for the weekend, and scuttled off in a northerly direction, whereupon soon enough it all went crashingly wrong. Driving past Ferrybridge power station, I notice there's a couple of great big chimneys going up up in a new construction... seems for years we've seen those going down, not up; old Fred Dibnah'd be a happy man, if it wasn't for the fact that they're not as nice as the old redbrick ones. Plan A was to pick Kaz up from the bosom of her family (everybody needs one as a pillow) in Gateshead where they were staying; head north to Glenrothes and drink beer with a mate of hers, this of course would have worked better if we'd have managed to get the right hotel details. Naturally, this didn't happen, so by the time contact was made, it was way too late to continute the journey, too late to head back to Aycliffe where I knew there was a friendly beer festival to enjoy, too late to make it to the coast to find a nice pub to enjoy and stay in, so I just parked the car up and bunked in the drivers seat overnight. Good job I packed the sleeping bag. Got my head down with a bit of a cob on to be honest, and in two minds as to whether I was going to bother with the rest of the trip.
Thank god for daylight, woke up in a better frame of mind. On the basis that it was further to go home than go forward, headed north at the crack of sparrow's fart a couple of hours before my mate's party were due to set off, thus building in some buffer time to play with, as I had a plan. Some very jolly fast roads in the border region; good wide bends and nice tarmac; heather, sunshine, with new lambs doing whatever new lambs do beside the roads which are roads cut through rocks - the Meat is Murder album loud on the stereo. Nice. Loverly drive, which is probably why it's so well seeded with the hated GATSO speed cameras. East Fortune air museum, to the east of Edinburgh. Very good establishment actually; a Mark 2 Lightning in super condition; not a huge amount of stuff but often rare and nicely looked after... a mark 1 development Harrier; the prototype Mark 14 Meteor in company markings; the first Tornado ADV in a museum; and most appropriate, the second Black Buck Vulcan in the month of the 25th anniversary of it's moment of fame over Port Stanley and Rio. Oh, and a British Airways Concorde, a very well put together exhibition for that item, including a few comments from Americans after the thing was taken out of service... “As one one who as lived under the flightpath of this hightly polluting dangerous monstrosity, all I can say is took twenty seven years to stop it but better late than never". American chauvinism. Suspect they'd have felt differently if the thing had have been built by Boeing. Anyways up; used up my time buffer there; headed over the Forth roadbridge through some godawful trafficjams and arrived at the hotel only a couple of minutes after the folks that had left two hours behind me.
So, scuttled off into Glenrothes which is a funny place... quite a lot of it's what you'd call traditional Scottish, in that it's a septic spot on the arse of civilisation. Went for bevvies in the bar, then was joined by Kaz and her mate Wendy who lives there and came over for the afternoon and evening; off to hers for dinner, met her fella Duncan who's a pretty unique creature in that he's a squaddie who I didn't dislike on sight for the crime of being a tosser. Nice bloke. Off to the McWetherspoons pub, full of drunken old scottish blokes... or they could just have been thirty, they seem to age fast up there... but I was able to get local real ale at least, Fyff Breweries Featherie, before finishing up on the Shifty Abbot; and then onto another bar clubby thing for Newcastle Brown and Sambucca. An unholy mix which means it's going to be a fun morning after.
Mind you, the scenery was spectacular. Stopped to photograph a rather neat viaduct at one point, would have stopped to snap the moors at the English Border but I've a feeling they'd work well at sunset, and anyway, I'd only just overtaken a coach after a mile long hairpin steep climb, and was genuinely afeared for the survival of the remainder of my engine. Not the sort of road you want to be stranded on. I shall stroll back in summer with an empty datacard and a more reliable vehicle.
So.... the Scottish trip itself. Was invited up by my mate of many years standing Kaz, to keep her company at a family wedding, the hell that these things can be. So, loaded up the funbuggy; left a pile of catfood for he who must be brushed and loved who's to be left in the care of my nice neighbour for the weekend, and scuttled off in a northerly direction, whereupon soon enough it all went crashingly wrong. Driving past Ferrybridge power station, I notice there's a couple of great big chimneys going up up in a new construction... seems for years we've seen those going down, not up; old Fred Dibnah'd be a happy man, if it wasn't for the fact that they're not as nice as the old redbrick ones. Plan A was to pick Kaz up from the bosom of her family (everybody needs one as a pillow) in Gateshead where they were staying; head north to Glenrothes and drink beer with a mate of hers, this of course would have worked better if we'd have managed to get the right hotel details. Naturally, this didn't happen, so by the time contact was made, it was way too late to continute the journey, too late to head back to Aycliffe where I knew there was a friendly beer festival to enjoy, too late to make it to the coast to find a nice pub to enjoy and stay in, so I just parked the car up and bunked in the drivers seat overnight. Good job I packed the sleeping bag. Got my head down with a bit of a cob on to be honest, and in two minds as to whether I was going to bother with the rest of the trip.
Thank god for daylight, woke up in a better frame of mind. On the basis that it was further to go home than go forward, headed north at the crack of sparrow's fart a couple of hours before my mate's party were due to set off, thus building in some buffer time to play with, as I had a plan. Some very jolly fast roads in the border region; good wide bends and nice tarmac; heather, sunshine, with new lambs doing whatever new lambs do beside the roads which are roads cut through rocks - the Meat is Murder album loud on the stereo. Nice. Loverly drive, which is probably why it's so well seeded with the hated GATSO speed cameras. East Fortune air museum, to the east of Edinburgh. Very good establishment actually; a Mark 2 Lightning in super condition; not a huge amount of stuff but often rare and nicely looked after... a mark 1 development Harrier; the prototype Mark 14 Meteor in company markings; the first Tornado ADV in a museum; and most appropriate, the second Black Buck Vulcan in the month of the 25th anniversary of it's moment of fame over Port Stanley and Rio. Oh, and a British Airways Concorde, a very well put together exhibition for that item, including a few comments from Americans after the thing was taken out of service... “As one one who as lived under the flightpath of this hightly polluting dangerous monstrosity, all I can say is took twenty seven years to stop it but better late than never". American chauvinism. Suspect they'd have felt differently if the thing had have been built by Boeing. Anyways up; used up my time buffer there; headed over the Forth roadbridge through some godawful trafficjams and arrived at the hotel only a couple of minutes after the folks that had left two hours behind me.
So, scuttled off into Glenrothes which is a funny place... quite a lot of it's what you'd call traditional Scottish, in that it's a septic spot on the arse of civilisation. Went for bevvies in the bar, then was joined by Kaz and her mate Wendy who lives there and came over for the afternoon and evening; off to hers for dinner, met her fella Duncan who's a pretty unique creature in that he's a squaddie who I didn't dislike on sight for the crime of being a tosser. Nice bloke. Off to the McWetherspoons pub, full of drunken old scottish blokes... or they could just have been thirty, they seem to age fast up there... but I was able to get local real ale at least, Fyff Breweries Featherie, before finishing up on the Shifty Abbot; and then onto another bar clubby thing for Newcastle Brown and Sambucca. An unholy mix which means it's going to be a fun morning after.
posted by Fred the Singing Bandit at 12:08 pm
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