Here’s some views for you, then.
A bridge over the Atlantic, apparently, and a canon primed (?) to attack deliveries of craft beer. Oh, and a lovely garden in which to enjoy the mist descending.
This is Clachan Seil, one of the most romantic sounding settings for a GBG entry which hove into view just as Mrs RM’s patience with Google was waning.
Seil is a slate island of 551 souls, none of whom were manning the souvenir shop so I can’t offer Seil
rock slate as a prize in my next quiz.
The unpronounceable Tigh-an-Truish looks like it could house the entire population of the island.
What a wondrous sign !
Matthew Lawrenson is available on a consultancy basis to identify that font.
We take a seat close to the bar and hope those beams hold the bar up for another 300 years or so.
It’s charming, and now food service is over just a haven for local drinkers and tourists wanting a cup of tea. I wonder if one of them will wander over to the piano and knock out a few Glen Campbell tunes for Mrs RM.
Nope. We get the Steve Wright Show, and Joni Mitchell singing about the island being turned into a parking lot for visitors to the Oban craft beer festival or something.
Another Jarl, sharp and crisp and touching NBSS 3. But the pub, as you’ll see, was pushing a 4.5.
Now, time to check into our luxury accommodation for the night.