3rd March 2020
More brave exploration, a first-ever trip to the Rhins of Galloway, the bit in the South-West of Scotland that looks a bit like Italy.
Just as I was drafting this postI noticed this tweet from the Great Tand, whose family come from Drummore.
I’m always a bit grumpy when folk complain about a lack of maps showing where Doncaster or Devizes are, but I’ll go the extra mile with Drummore.
Beyond Dumfries the roads get slower, particularly off the main A75, but your reward are routes hugging the coast, just like at the end of Shawshank Redemption.
Drummore is the most southerly village in the whole of Scotland. Draw a line across the map and you end up in Durham, which is pretty much England, isn’t it ?
The tick is on a caravan park. I actually phoned the Clashwhannon, which sounds like a cross between early 1980s punk and pop bands, twice before setting off, reassured both times by a friendly north-eastern voice assuring me they awaited my visit.
And indeed it was open. Or, at least, the door opened.
No-one about in the Public, but from the Lounge I heard the unmistakeable gurgling and laughter of children. Perhaps one of them would pull me a half of Black Sheep ?
Mum turned up, apologised for the absence, ushered me back to the Public, and we chatted about her home town of Peterlee and the tourist season.
With no-one to chat to or observe, I entertained myself with Trout Fisherman monthly.
And enjoyed the child’s screech at the start of the Joe Dolce classic, criminally overshadowed by a dull Ultravox track in early 1981. “Shaddup You Face” means “Wash your face” in Scotland.
I had Drummore Harbour to myself. It’s gorgeous.
One recently shut pub up for sale,
and one rather austere hotel with locals lighting up outside.
And that’s your lot. Bet it looks different if I come back in another 50 years time.