Whatever that means
Well north of Lochgilphead, a little south of Oban. Should have taken three hours to get there but flooding, closed roads etc made it six but we got there and there was still a day before the bells so there was no need to rush. Nice place. Still not entirely sure what the place is. Lunga Estate but peppered with some houses and some ramshackle caravans. Anyway, we’re in a house with a big kitchen and a stove. There’s plenty of food and drink. And there’s scenery and bikes, which might even get used.
On 31st there’s much mooching around, drawing, playing, dozing, bacon, sausages, walking, dogs chasing sticks and jumping in after them, food (so much food). And some beer. Will and Becks endure their own six hour drive from Edinburgh, bringing the hairy Randolph and more food, drink etc. Since it’s nearly 10 we opt to stay in instead of wandering to the pub 15 minutes away so the bells are delivered by Jackie Bird. First foots arrive, of course, including the Laird in his trews with his bottle of Bells – £14.99, you know. That’s how these guys stay rich. That and selling building plots for £120k.
You’d think the first would start later but not really. More sausage and bacon, toast, coffee and a wander to the shop/pub. The bikes do get used but since it’s less than a mile and two pints are involved it’s only a token ride. Barely tickling the box. More food, more drink. A chicken was troubled, the home-made pastrami was sliced and some beef stew, some lentil soup. Good lining stuff. Folk arrived.
Home on the second after lots of mooching about, with bacon and sausages, of course and more leftovers – well, they’ve got to be eaten. And Top Dogs.