I would have preferred more of the sunshine and less of the showers, but at least this is a combination known to produce some pleasing atmospheric effects. The mountain behind is called Stob nan Coinnich Bhacain — please don’t ask me to pronounce that — but my destination for the day was Ben Vorlich, County Top number 107. More photos are therefore on the other blog.
It’s very good that I can still find reasons, opportunity and (though this was not an expensive trip) the money to come and spend Thursday nights in places like this. As seen from outside the Ardlui Hotel, which even has its own train station.
The first part of my day was spent up the hill in the background, Ward Hill: not an easy lump of sandstone to get up or down, thanks to its steep sides (evident in this shot), but worth the bother. The second part of my day was spent at the easier-to-reach environs of Stromness FC, members of the Orkney ‘A’ League, and their match against Dounby (here in blue). I couldn’t decide which one was worth making Pic of the Day so let’s just choose one that accommdates both these pleasures.
The Old Man of Hoy is around 450 feet high and probably Britain’s most well-known pillar of rock, thanks in large part to a famous televised climbing of it in the late 1960s. Plenty more people have subsequently made it to the top, including an 8-year-old, who thereby demonstrated more desire and ability to propel themselves up sheer rock faces than I ever will. But the Old Man is not some durable phenomenon. A map drawn in 1750 shows a headland here but no stack. The first known painting of it was completed in 1819 and shows him with two legs, and looking much bulkier. And when he’s seen now — as from the Scrabster to Stromness ferry this afternoon — it does look like the next really big storm will take him down. Will the Old Man last longer than the Old(ish) Man now blogging about him? We’ll take bets…. after all, if I lose, I won’t be around to collect.
Ever further northward we travel. Only one shot in the near-14 years of this blog has been taken from further north and still been in the UK — that being the one in Thurso on 13/7/25 — but this is a status it will keep only 24 hours. Who cares anyway, Lybster harbour was a tranquil spot on a beautiful evening. Impossible to believe that 150 years ago the herring industry meant this was one of the busiest ports in the country. It isn’t now, for sure.
Great Britain is the only place which tries to do seaside resorts at around 57ºN, and in a location which, as it proved today, is prone to being covered in sea mist (here they call it haar) when the whole rest of the country bathes in sunshine. But Arbroath perseveres. Get a ticket for Arbroath FC — part of one stand of it is in the background, with visiting St Mirren fans — and you can get £12.50 worth of credit at Pleasureland for just £10. Or so we were told.
This is the fifth photo of one or other of the Forth bridges to appear on here, and all apart from one (17/8/2021) have been taken while moving, usually on a train though the first one was an exception, as I was a passenger in a car on that occasion. Meaning none of them have been of the rail bridge: when on a train, all you get to see of it are some close-up girders. Anyway, I am sure this is a terrible photograph in some ways but in other ways I quite like it. It looks like something ephemeral, maybe three stupendous maypoles lined up over the estuary.
As part of the contract that is Being Married to Drew, Clare occasionally gets dragged up remote moorlands, like Meikle Says Law in the Lammermuir Hills — the top of this (a County Top) being somewhere in the vague brown moorland to top right. This was the final stage back to the car. I call it the ‘last climb for now’ because I assume she might be motivated to do another one or two in the future before one of us dies…. though who knows for sure?
This is the last of the shots from the current road trip in Scotland, a passage of time which has seen it overtake Australia as the second-most depicted country on here after England.
The tour of Scotland, or at least, the eastern-central part of that country, continued with a visit to “Scotland’s Secret Bunker“, which until 1992 or thereabouts was maintained as the home-to-be of government in Scotland were that country (and presumably the rest of the UK) ever to be taken out by a couple of dozen nuclear missiles. It says a lot for the managerial mindset that a significant amount of money was spent on building and maintaining this place, with its various dormitories, a broadcasting station, two cinemas, a canteen (still in use, for visitors), state-of-the-art air conditioning and fire protection and various Monitoring and War Rooms (“Gentlemen! You can’t fight in here, this is the War Room!”). Plus a clinic, as pictured here with its touches of black humour.
That this is now open to visitors, albeit privately owned and charging a healthy price (£50 for the three of us), is some consolation but begs a natural question — where’s the current version of this? Or versions, as there were long-standing and fairly plausible rumours that another one of these sat up on Ashdown Forest in Sussex, near Crowborough where I grew up. And how much do they cost in terms of, say, nurses’ or teachers’ salaries? The place was definitely worth a visit, if only to invoke such questions in Joe’s mind.
Joe makes his first appearance on the blog since December. Why this window? Why the post title? This is Doune Castle, and some 51 years ago, in 1974, Michael Palin and Terry Jones were stood by this very window during the filming Monty Python and the Holy Grail; Doune stood in for at least four different castles in the movie. “But mother…..” “Father, lad, father.” “But father….. I don’t want to marry her, I just want to, want to…..” (The ignorant can check out the scene at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3YiPC91QUk)
Being 42 