54.78 kms: Rowardennen-Inversnaid

And here I am at the beginning again. Or the end. The place I finished last time I walked this way. Today was emotional. I threw a wobbly. I think there is an evil spirit in Rowardennen (which is ironic as the name, apparently, is a combination of words that includes an enchanted Scottish flower which wards off evil spirits!). I felt better once I left but I was still conflicted and it required a hissy fit to sort it out. Anyone who has followed along with any of my travels with the boy will know that I always have (at least) one. Maybe I am a spoiled brat. In the past walking has been a game I've played alone. I work well alone. I am able to have my good days and my bad days without getting crippling guilt about who has to witness it all. I can make decisions that affect only one person. I don't have to try and make all the decisions so they suit me and then resent other travelling partners for not making interactive contributions to the decision-making process. Alone means many things, but the biggest is the walking. Today I realised that without the ability to be alone in nature, in your thoughts, physically, the rest of what makes up this type of travelling is the bad stuff. (Ooh, I am being a whiner, aren't I?) I like the feel of pushing yourself physically but not so much that I like to carry that over-laden pack. I like the freedom that having no plan brings until it means sleeping in a field, on cold, hard ground, in the rain. I like the commune with nature, as long as it doesn't include torrential rain, blasting sun, headwinds or midges. But i put up with all those things if it means solitude in its purest form. Suddenly I had a bit of a problem—not quite sure why I didn't see it coming: I'm not alone!

Top Left: National Park graffiti Top Right: Glimpses of the Loch Bottom Left: I can still find him a far behind me with that hat! Bottom Right: Waterall at Inversnaid

I had the perfect plan. We catch a ferry and a train to Glasgow, hire a station-wagon, stop at a camping store and get a cheap blow-up mattress for the back of it, a couple of two-way radios, a second copy of all the maps (and, as a sweetener to V——, a new wrist GPS), stop at a home wears store and get a cheep sheet and doona (instant accommodation), and then every morning I start walking towards a destination with a much lightened pack, V—— drives to the destination, parks the car, gets his own much lightened pack and walks to meet me along the track. We get to spend (a lot of money?) time alone, and time together, we have accommodation if we need it and a way of getting to accommodation if that doesn't seem suitable that night. Brilliant. Except for the fact that V—— hated it. Always has. It's not the first time I've had this idea. It was the first time it had a station wagon, a blow-up mattress and a GPS. My mood hit gravel again. I walked off in front of V—— for an hour and a half. Enough in front that I couldn't really hear him behind me. My mood improved somewhat. His pacing did too. Then I did it again for another hour. Although I was a little worried during that hour that he would fall off a cliff and I wouldn't know. It's a tentative plan for the moment. It doesn't solve all the problems, but it may make it doable. I am sure many of you are reading this and wondering what on earth I am going on about. It's probably not something you will ever understand until you have walked fifteen hundred kilometres on your own and then tried to walk fifty with someone else. It is quite an amazingly privileged problem to have—I recommend it highly.

I do have a much more serious problem though: Historical Romantic Literature! I'm addicted to Kindle's Daily Deal. I do hold back as much as I can but when they offered up Tracey Brogan's Highland Surrender for ninety-nine cents a few days before I left for the highlands, I took it as a sign, and bought it. Now I can't stop reading it. And I am much too much of a literary snob to read historical, or otherwise, romance. It's a disease! Maybe it is my virus-addled brain at work and once the snot moves out I will be able to control myself. Although the denouement will have come and gone and the rivalling clans will be united by the love shown by these betrothed enemies so it will be a mute point anyway. I'm so ashamed. But I have to go read so I'm signing off.

Good night to Inversnaid, good night to you, for tomorrow we tread new roads!

Getting my fix of linky-parties at:

43.58 kms: Balmaha-Milarrochy-Sallochy-Rowardennen

A few wines. Oops, I mean whines. It had to happen.

Also a swear word. It had to happen.

Top: Bluebell time of the year Bottom Left: Any reason to get these off your back; great coffee an even better excuse Bottom Right: Looking back along Loch Lomond

I have worked as a waitress, as a travel agent, as a shop person. All jobs where you deal with the public. And let's face it, the public is a temperamental, annoying, demanding entity, but they are your livelihood, even if it is via the person who owns or runs any given service enterprise. I have a huge inability to understand bad service. Even though it happens often, today's serving was the worst I have experienced in a long time. We're staying at the Rowardennen Hotel. The staff at the hotel are fine, but we went in to the Clansman Bar attached to have dinner and I have no recollection of experiencing such rudeness in a service industry. Ever. They have a captive audience. To a degree. Walkers on the West Highland Way seem commonly to bypass Balmaha and stay here the night. But can I say this to you—and to anyone who will listen—reconsider that idea. And if you stick to the standard plan, stay at the hostel, eat at the hostel. Do not go to the Clansman! And beside that, the meal was sub-standard: we had rehashed breakfast sausages on dried out mash with a gravy of broth-like proportions with no greens. We got out of there as quickly as humanly possible. Vile!

Why am I sick again on this section of the walk? I am starting to think that there is a more divine reason. We stayed a day in Balmaha to try and help me leave this cough behind. Last time I came this way, this night in Rowardennen was spent sitting almost upright coughing all night long. (I do recall a dissatisfaction with the bar last time too, but I didn't write about it at the time). The one day off this time has not helped. Do you think someone or something is trying to stop me going further? Does something ominous await me on the trail past Inversnaid? I'm not listening, but I am mightily annoyed. Walking up hills brings on asthma-like episodes, coughing is giving me a massive headache, I can't sleep nights. I am, in short, having a truly miserable time. And it is so much worse to have a miserable time on holidays when the expectation to enjoy yourself is so high. Feeling like this is making me panic, like I did last time, about accommodation because the last thing in the universe I want to do is sleep on some precarious rocky ledge in a goretex body bag. Call me crazy, it just doesn't appeal.

Left: Walking in the bluebells Right: Skimming stones on the loch: an idyllic life

This grumpiness will pass. My knees will hurt less, all my other joints will stop carrying the slack my knees create, the sun will come out, the midges will stay away, the walking will get easier and the pack seem lighter. But at this stage I really wish there was a friendly bar around where I could drown a whine or two with a wine or two!

Good night to Rowardennen (except for the two arseholes at the bar), good night to you.

30.34 kms: Drymen-Conic Hill-Balmaha

Last time I did this stretch of countryside I was in a foul mood. It was just one of those days. And doing it again made concrete a life-fundamental, things are harder when your emotion fights against them. I remember the long slog uphill to the forest, the distracting signs due to forest works, the long, almost waterfall like path ascending Conic Hill, the pain-inducing descent, the nightmare gate which was too small to allow me and my bag to pass through together and which was on a hill which made dropping the bag over the fence very difficult. Today it was like coming back to a beach you used to frequent as a child to find the waves are not nearly as big as you remember them. All the unpleasantness of that day was to do with the fact I was grumpy. Sure it was a slog up the road to the forest, sure the forest was a little more like a plane of tree stumps than a forest, sure Conic Hill was hard, up and down, and that damn gate is still as annoying, but I actually quite enjoyed my day. The only thing that could have made it better would be getting rid of this cold. I've reached the green and yellow phlegm stage. It's so nice for those around me!

Can you spot the path we have to climb?

I've done lots of catching up today with the free wifi at the Oak Tree Inn in Balmaha (thanks, and the spinach and butternut squash lasagna was quite nice too), but I'm cutting it short tonight to get some rest. See you in the morning!

Top Left: Heading back down, towards Loch Lomond and Balmaha Botton Left: Blue skies, fluffy clouds, stone walls and sheep Top Right: View from atop Conic Hill Bottom Right: Windswept selfies

Good night to Balmaha, good night to you.

19.52 kms Milngavie-Drumgoyne-Gartness-Easter Drumquhassel-Drymen

Two unusual things will happen on this trip: I'll walk a route I have already walked but this time with another person, and, I will walk places I have never been and share the experience, which I have never done. Ultimately it makes you look at things in a different way. Do you like to travel alone? Or would you prefer to be with someone? There are benefits to both. I am a bit of a loner. People—even the ones I rather fancy—tend to drive me a little mad. So I love the difference being all alone makes. But there is something about any given holiday in which the best aspect of it is not during it, but rather in the retelling of it to others. Travelling with someone gives you the sounding-board to bounce that off, rather than relying on the kindness of those who stayed at home and now have to listen to you clap on and on about how amazing your holiday was. And, god forbid, see all the photos.

Top: One of two photos taken today—the start of the West Highland Way Bottom: The other

Today we (re)walked the first day of the West Highland Way, a ninety-six mile, long distance path from Milngavie, just north of Glasgow, to Fort William and the joining point between Loch Lomond and Loch Ness. On my last trip I actually finished in Inversnaid, a tiny town a few nights stay away from where we are now. I was, like I unfortunately am now, not well. I just had to get to drugs! And so I caught a ferry and a train out of there and called it quits for the trip. Normally I would start again where I had left off, but the next day out of Inversnaid is a notoriously difficult day—walking precariously along the cliffed edge of the loch. It was a little much to expect the boy, on his first day of lugging around a huge pack, just for the fun of it (or the later reminiscences) to do. So instead I gave him this long, but relatively easy-terrained day. And a pre-booked hotel at the end of it (The Winnock Hotel, Drymen: big bed all to myself, while V—— struggles in the little bed (little bed, little pillows, little man, little jaws—little in-joke referencing the absent and greatly missed Darby—and Lollii); great large bath for slight muscle relief; sufficient (but not amazing) dinner in the bar while Liverpool slaughters Crystal Palace on the TV). The next couple of days are far shorter (although tomorrow has a killer hill!), and so the theory of easing into it, should become more of a reality.

How did he fare? Not to badly, he says. Feet a bit sore, back seems alright. 'Did he enjoy it' gets a non-committal 'yeah'. How did I fare? I did moderately well being a social animal instead of a recluse. And I only really threw a wobbly towards the end of the day when I had to physically demonstrate the 'travel at the pace of the slowest boy scout' theory going wrong by stopping for as long as he did every time he stopped to wait for me and then started again when I caught up, and so ending up ages behind him. Make sense? If you are quicker, and stop all the time to wait for the slower one to catch up, the person behind gets tireder and tireder because they never get to stop. a time comes when everyone needs to be behind, and keep pace with, the slowest person. He wore the whole Boy Scout uniform with scarf and toggle today. I was so proud. But he never was a scout and so a practical (and sarcastic) display on my part was required (according to me). I think we have that sorted. Now, to sleep, with the hope of resting some of these pains and sniffles away.

Goodnight to Drymen, goodnight to you!

Sharing a love of talking about travel with:

648.5 kms: London Euston-Glasgow Central

I visited Glasgow last in about 1994. They kicked me out of the country, just for being honest, while I was there. Well, that is how I tell the story. What I recall of Glasgow from that time was snow, wallpaper, glasshouses and curry. Luckily, this time there is no snow.

Left: the Necropolis Centre: Art Nouveau Ironwork on a garden in the East End Right: Policeman at a Police box, or, is it ...? The doctor?

Prior to taking the first steps on the rest of a walking journey, we have spent three nights getting over the flight and having a little squizz at Glasgow once again. Have to say, I am quite liking it. I've never utilised them before, but I am loving the hop-on, hop-off bus. It takes you round to all the sights, tells you all about them in nine languages and a ghoulish kids version, and gives you the opportunity to get on and off at the ones you fancy. We bought a two day ticket for fourteen pounds. The hardest thing was deciding, in limited time, which sights to see. On day one we did the science museum (completely culturally irrelevant, but loads of fun and interaction, and they had ferrofluid—google it, it is simply the most magical thing you ever did see). Then we visited the Necropolis, a hill high above the cathedral and looking out over Glasgow, on, or in, which sits some fifty thousand souls, dearly departed, for whome the most amazing monuments have been erected. For those who know him, you can imagine the ponderings on the ethereal nature of life and the futility of 'waiting for later' that this visit evoked in the boy.

On the train from London we had sat with a gentleman by the name of Andy who had made us a list of what he recommended we see in Glasgow. He had also pointed us in the direction of some of the best houses of curry in the city. Glasgow is renowned for being one of the best places on the planet for Indian curry. We went to a tiny little restaurant close to us, coincidently called The Wee Curry Shop. It was tiny, packed and we had to go to the pub for forty-five minutes before we could even get in, but it was the, no, let me correct myself, THE, best curry. Ever. The boy, in typical understatement said: 'Well, it was nice.' Admittedly it was quite spicy. I think he was sweating.

Top Left: Daffodils outside the Science Museum Bottom Left: Strange perspectives in Selfies Right: Glasgow is apparently one of the best places for Victorian architecture

The mad brownie uniform dash, the night shifts, the running around, the long flight, the Scottish summer weather have all conspired to give me a cold. I was a little less than lustrous for our second day of sightseeing in Glasgow. V—— relished and I wandered in the Riverside Museum, an amazingly designed building containing a transport museum, with a tall ship berthed alongside which you could board and explore. Then I relished and V—— wandered in the greenhouses at the Botanical gardens.

We shopped for dinner and spent the night in our flat. A friend told us about Airbnb. If you haven't seen it, try it. I just eavesdropped and told some ladies in a cafe there in Balmaha, middle-of-nowhere, Scotland, the same thing. It's effectively couch-surfing with a commercial aspect. You stay in people's rooms, flats, houses or castles. A huge range of amazing places to stay which are not hotels. We had a one bedroom apartment with a lounge, full kitchen, balcony, use of a leisure centre with pool, spa, sauna and steam room (which we didn't end up using), built in the old mill houses overlooking the Forth and Clyde canal and the city, all for less than a hotel would have cost us. It was a bit of a walk into town. But it's not like we couldn't use some training given the hundreds of kilometres we are about to embark on with no other physical build up! Tomorrow we say goodbye to this lovely bussed around, luxury apartmented, walking with only a day pack lifestyle and commence what we came to do. Deities help us!

Top Left: View from our apartment; early morning Bottom Left: inside the Kibble Palace, Botanic Gardens Top Right: Riverside Museum with a reflection of the tall ship, the Glenlee, in the windows Bottom Right: Plum coloured tulips at the Botanic Gardens

Good night to Glasgow, good night to you. Reminiscing about my Travels over with:

17707 kms: Melbourne-Sydney-Hong Kong-London

Bad: Completely forgot to bring Wesley. How can you bifurcate a country with a beaver if you forget your beaver?

Good: Premium Economy, Virgin Atlantic.

Left: Me and the boy at Honkers Right Top: It still looks like airplane food Right Bottom: Pseudo-Wesley

Bad: For some reason we were amongst the last to board. We had to rush our pre-takeoff champagne.

Good: Although we were meant to be in a central row of three, the ladies in the two seats by the window were with the third person in our row and asked if we would mind swapping. Um, no.

Good: Not only did we have premium economy, and the window seats, we also had the bulkhead—no-one in front of us to put back their seat into our personal plane space.

Bad: Having the bulkhead means you have to wait until the seatsbelt sign is turned off to play with your TV. No playing poker while the plane takes off. You also can't have anything in front of you and so it is, like, hours, or minutes at least, before you can take off your shoes.

Good: Crockery, glass, metal, linen.

Bad: Was it the build up, the night shifts, the mad rush to finish (didn't) the Brownie uniforms, the increasing burden of age? I had the most annoying headache for most of the flight. V—— plied me with progressively stronger medications and in the end I tossed and turned and drooled all over my replacement Wesley (a substandard and perfectly ordinary travel pillow). I missed out on a perfectly fabulous eight-at-least movie marathon.

Good: I did watch one movie per flight and enjoyed them both, even though water came from my eyes both times. I watched Frozen (I wish I could live in an amazing green dress in a frozen castle on a hill and that a marshmallow monster would keep people from my door, but it seems the theme implies we should let people into our hearts to warm them, goddam!) and Saving Mr Banks (which effectively says the same thing, and aren't Emma Thompson's calves beautiful?)

Bad: Arriving in London at 5:35 am.

Good: Not a single solitary person in front of us in the immigration queue (I was in that queue last time for an hour and a half and found out all about quilting shops in New England—luckily that is something that I am quite interested in, even if I didn't know I was).

Good: London. Just good. A spiritual home. A journey beginning. So happy to be back.

Countdown to Stage Four

In seven shifts and twelve hours of working time (the only time that grates on life), I am off on my continuing adventure with the British landscape. I'm taking Wesley again (the Beaver), and the boy (the Boy Scout). I will be a Brownie. The 'B's' are all planned, the shopping is mostly done, the packing will be last minute, but watch this space for tales of trips very shortly. Really hope you'll be along for the ride!

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