Why it's good to sometimes get lost (in Scotland)

When Dad gave me and my sister of twelve years free reign to choose where the heck we wanted to go for this year's holiday we could have picked anywhere. I mean anywhere, literally. We could have, with reasonable effort, have talked him into taking us to New Zealand or Australia, far flung Africa, or at the very least Barcelona or the sunny side of Europe that had rejected all bad weather to the small detached isles that they could forget about.

So when we both said Scotland he was at the very least mildly surprised. In fact most people are mildly surprised to find out that while they're trying to flee the God awful summer beginnings we had, me and my sister were choosing to run into the heart of the matter.

To try and justify myself, I have inherited the pessimism gene from my Dad (no matter how much I try to deny it) and summer looked out to be crap and to stay crap with a heavy downpour of crap on top. As such it was only logical that if we were in Scotland then at least we would be expecting God awful weather and not sulking if it was. If it was sunny at least one day then we could stand around as shocked as everyone else and wait for the world to end, pigs to fly and a teapot to fall to the ground in a smoldering Twinning's fruit scented crater as it fell out of orbit with Jupiter. Plus we just wanted to see the Loch Ness monster and God dammit I got pretty darn close:

(If you just squint your eyes and ignore the rational minded observance and conclusion it's

 a duck then you have all the proof you need -  you unbelievers)

Others may also gain one more interesting fact from this photo apart from it being unconquered evidence to appease my eight year old self that Nessie lives:

It was bloody glorious.

I mean for the entire two weeks. 

So naturally the first thing my English set mind could do from crossing the border was moan about it. Where was the torrential rain!? The cloud cover!? The sodden walking sponges also known as sheep!? When I go to the Highlands I expect gale force winds as I cling onto a mountain side, fighting the downpour to reach a remote inn that can only serve me haggis (No haggis, but there was black pudding on the first hotel's menu that prompted theological debate whether one could morally eat it for half the morning). All this happening whilst screaming to get any small murmur or remark heard. Instead I'm getting landscapes of this:

Fluffy clouds on azure skies!?

And this:

 Sunbathed woods under more fluffy clouds in azure skies!?

And to stab me in the back this:

Glorious Utopian Glen Affric* including yet more fluffy clouds and a third helping of bloody beautiful azure skies!?

Scotland you lied to me you beautiful bastard.

It turned out we did have something to complain about as our car's alternator belted its last and died half way up to John O'Groats. On a Sunday. Two hour car haul back to a Perth Motel and we were left stranded for a day and a half trying and waiting to get it fixed.

So after that palaver the holiday was back on and for some mad reason we decided to head back to the highlands At least for the first time that holiday it decided to go ballistic and chuck it, just as it happens we were feeling very Scottish and tasting many a brand of whiskey at The Famous Grouse Experience (Irn-Bru for all you kiddies and twelve year old sisters). Then we decide why not take another look at another Loch (Loch Tay) and somehow take a wrong turning onto a longer routed A road. 

We grumble and go on a bit with this road when my key (and almost dire, hysterical in the depressing sense) map reading spots a tiny little road marked on the map that turns off the road we're going and heads straight to the Loch. Obviously we're in rural Scotland so we're not expecting a very easy road to navigate (this road had signs just before it saying it's impassable in winter), but we decide to just give it a shot with nothing better to do (and missed first time passing, turning and driving very slowly to spot it again).

So we begin to take this road. And then we find ourselves in what seems to be the actual untouched highlands:

  These last two were actually taken back at civilization at a place just after the south end of Loch Tay. It's called the Falls of Dochart and apparently it wasn't good enough for our snooty guidebook.

These pictures do no justice for the moment you find a space to park at the top of what seemed like a mountain, and open your door to the sound of absolutely nothing (apart from those untamed sheep that like to run along the road right at you in a group before turning chicken and parting before you can oblige in taking them all on). There's also the strange moment you don't experience very often when, after seeing The Famous Grouse you actually stumble into the bush and actually see the same species of grouse fly for it. As a southerner, the sight of a Grouse that wasn't on a Whiskey bottle was a new experience.

By that time of the day it was beginning to cloud over it was beginning to (finally) look like proper Scottish weather. But rain or shine, I discovered, whether on the motorway or on a smaller road, Scotland is one bloody beautiful country - especially when your alternator hasn't conked out and you're not stuck in a hotel room. What I learned here is that (in Scotland at least) don't be scared of the tiny roads (so long as you haven't got a caravan on the back or a ridiculously oversize vehicle), because just as annoying as some get, others can become the most rewarding experience that you get from your travels.

So the next time you’re heading north from Crieff after a Famous Grouse Experience along the A822 towards Dunkeld and after you pass the small village of Corrymuckloch and take the next left signposted as the way to Glen Quaich towards what seems to be the end of the road with snow warning signs and pull over places, don’t be too quick to pass it up (unless you have a caravan - seriously, those things are a bitch on small roads).

*Dog falls walk, Glen Affric. It's just west from Loch Ness along the A831 and is a hidden gem which completely outscores Loch Ness on beauty.... however it's lack of a monster means Loch Ness wins any day).

Wow... Who the hell thought a blog would survive this long untouched - seriously it's like some Tukenkamun tomb in here or something...

...Yeah I've never been that great with work commitments. Just talk to my brother who's still badgering me for a read on my non existent novel (I've swear I have written a lot... just not all in the same story... or two... or three......... or fifteen... yeah, never get this habit I have of starting a new idea the moment it gets in your head if you want a write a book).

So... one and a half years later I thought maybe I should put something in this blog once more instead of leaving it to crumble into the misty ends of the eternal Internet of no return.

So what's happened in all this time? Lets see: royal weddings, college days, procrastinations, a self published short story compilation from a creative writing group, AS level exams, AS level results, death of guinea pigs, new baby guinea pigs, second year, the tragic choice of which A level to drop, the tragic thought that maybe I should have kept the A level I dropped, A levels, getting drunk for the first time, never wanting to get drunk again, A level exams and everything in between.

Oh yes, I've kind of finished sixth form which now renders the entire point of this blog's title a tad bit useless.

(Instead of a cat imagine a guinea pig and this applies to me)

I got a respectful BBC in English Lit, Art and Design and Philosophy (mind you, not before waiting for an hour in front of a dead Internet screen while my college's website crashed to public and to staff, leaving me stranded in Manchester, four hundred miles away from college awaiting to see my results while everyone else who had been up an hour before me were running around in elation on Facebook and what have you while I was left banging and gnashing my teeth in impatience on my Auntie's coffee table).

It seems that most people I hang around with think you need at least one A grade at A level to be anything successful in life (although mind you, I do hang around with  people who's aspirations are to be doctors, as well as two certain friends who are now packing their bags for Oxford and Cambridge). However, I still seem to be on my unconditional place in Foundation art within my college (summer work galore). And then of course the absolute obvious hit me:

(Not sure if amusing, or just destroying the world with overused internet memes)

This year the blog title still makes sense.

It also means I'm stuck for a another year at sixth form while my friends gallivant off to Uni in all directions while I sit awkwardly in the ref without even an awkward turtle to complain to.

(This'll probably be me in about two months when I finally realise most of 

my friends have their phones turned off as they daydream their lectures away.)

So... Lets see if I can survive a third year of it all and if I can actually keep a commitment to this blog up to actually write about any actual experience of sixth form college, tips about it, daydreams, interesting thing, vivid hallucinations, some show off artwork and basically life in general.