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Sunday 8 October 2006--I listen to fifteen or so episodes of Mark Gillespie’s WhiskyCast on my way to Glasgow this morning–I’d fallen far behind, and loaded unheard episodes into my iPod before leaving for Scotland. They certainly helped to pass the time. Walk into the terminal at about 9:00, and Ron saunters in from arrivals at about 9:20. We spend about an hour over coffee, catching up.

"Do you like goat cheese?" I ask him. I bought a four-pack of cheeses at Schiphol for mid-day nibbling. One of them is a chèvre, of which I'm not fond. Neither is Ron.

Off we go, over Erskine Bridge and up the A82 through Crianlarich to Fort William, where we take a break for a visit to The Whisky Shop. We grab a few minis and then go on our way, through Spean Bridge and onto the A87, down Glen Shiel. It’s as beautiful in its way as Glen Coe, with less traffic. We pass the Jac-O-Bite Restaurant and come soon enough to Eilean Donan Castle, on the shore of Loch Duich. The castle was destroyed in 1719 during the first Jacobite Rebellion, but restored in the early 20th century by John MacRae-Gilstrap. It’s a picturesque structure, reputedly the most photographed castle in Scotland, and I can believe it–one year I sent a dozen or so different postcards of it home.

We roll into Plockton at about 3:45pm. We are staying with Richard and Teresa at their lovely B&B down at the town pier. Teresa greets us, and I ask her if they like goat cheese. She makes a face. Not only do they not like goat cheese, but apparently Richard has lately been making very rude jokes about it, and I am strongly discouraged from mentioning it in his presence. He appears presently, and, knowing that we are Red Sox fans, tries to tweak us about the Sox’ ill fortune this season. Obviously he has researched this especially for our arrival. He doesn’t realize that we have been far beyond tweaking for weeks.

Ron and I settle in, and meet in the lounge for a dram. The plan is to have one and then a nap before dinner, but one turns into another, and before long we realize that we have conducted a fairly thorough Bladnoch survey. We skip the nap and have dinner at the Plockton Hotel, which has Deuchars IPA, and then settle in to the Plockton Inn, which has London Pride and Abbot Ale, and a fair selection of malts. The Inn is usually reasonably lively, but it is very quiet tonight, which is a bit disappointing, as it is Ron’s birthday.

We are just about to pack it in when the door bursts open, and a vanload of international uni kids pours in–Aussie, Kiwi, South African, German, who knows what else. Just what we need! There is joking and laughter and billiards.

Ron does not get really drunk very often, but when he does, it’s very sudden. One moment he’s steady and speaking rationally, and the next, he’s slurring and stumbling. So it is just now. He stumbles off to the bar, and a few moments later I hear one of the lads saying, “The Yank’s buying a round for the house. It’s his birthday!” The kids immediately sing “Happy Birthday”, and Ron responds by pumping both fists in the air and shouting, “Down with Bush! Down with Bush!” Apparently he wants to convince them that he is not an obnoxious American, and oddly enough it seems to work.

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Eilean Donan Castle


B&B from the pier


Mike and Ike and Spike and Bladnoch

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