A short post from Stornoway, where the Americano in Eleven has revived me sufficiently to tell you about the 3rd tick on our Quest to Tick the West (of Scotland).
You’ll recall how I started Friday needing 22, knocking off a couple at the end of an 8 hour slog to Mallaig, whose Steam Inn (named after a Peter Gabriel deep cut from Us) had kindly offered to stay open past midnight on account of Mrs RM threatening to turn off their IT system.
You’ll know Mallaig, if at all, as the place you catch the ferry to the Old Forge on the Knoydart peninsula. I breathed a sigh of relief when it wasn’t in GBG22 but I’ve no doubt it will be back to torment BRAPA in 2027.
We parked up at our hotel, yards away from Steam, and I insisted Mrs RM get the room key first unless 24 hour room service turned out to be a lie.
And then I bounded to my tick, only to find a deserted restaurant having gone in the wrong door.
Mrs RM had, obviously, found the bar, and claimed the last seat in a tiny place that makes a Thanet micro looks like that Ramsgate Spoons.
And it was the only seat, too, meaning I had to stand next to Mrs RM necking a pint of Skye Red and feeling awkward.
Full of youngsters, none drinking cask, but great to see.
Down to the last nineteen (19), and with this view of Mallaig in the morning.
Where now ?