Goodbye to all that

So, we're off the ridge and back, in our various ways, into our own lives again. A week has blown by (literally) and your Gutbusters are back eating porridge and nursing knees growing ever more uncooperative. But, by God, it was worth it - the amazing, madly majestic Highlands and Islands, an 8 hour car drive away from Devon but feeling like another planet. But that's it for another year.

I'm sure you'll indulge me a rare moment of sentimentality as I consider the camaraderie and personal body odour of my fellow Gutbusters:


Trevor, Alex and Bob: Of all the people I have ever met, you are three of them.

Nurse, the screens, and adieu until next year. Gutbusters out.

Talisker: rude not to.

Today after initial confusion, we decided that the big thing in the sky was the sun and where better to hide from it but a distillery? Smoky, peaty with a burnt finish, but enough about the smell of Bob's tent, we started the tour with a wee dram and then experienced full on sensory overload. Whiskey making is smelly and the process is comple. Mash, Tuns, Scragg,  - sounds like the members of a Ska band but all represent stages in the process of turning barley and spring water into profits for Diagio. (Not, as i discovered an Argentinian centre forward, but a giant drinks corporation which has swallowed up most of the independent distillers) Anyway, we're back at base now preparing for the last supper at the Ford Galaxy Bar and Grill  before we break camp tomorrow and head back to Devon. Off with the boots (for three of us anyway) and back to reality. It's been a complete blast (with gusts of up to 60mph) Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android

Sgurr Nan Anagram!

Here is proof that yesterday, despite the odds - elemental weather, dicky knees, general apathy etc, your four gutbusters made it on to the Cullin Ridge. It was a bit disconcerting that we saw absolutely no one else all day (obviously put off by the violently split infinitives in the previous forecast). But it's amazing what you can endure on 2 oatcakes, a tube of Primula and 700 wine gums. So after a soggy, sloggy ascent, we finally bagged 2 Munros - Sgurr Fiona's Corrie thing and that other lad with the trig point on it. (Look them up, i'm a bit hazy on the details) Then, Alex's muscles blew up which prevented us experimenting further with a wee 'airy' shortcut down he'd picked from his 1970 guide 'Death wore Gabro' So, we fell back down the way we came in a savage squall of rain and embrocation and the rest is pub Today we did feck all and plenty of it. Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android

Snow joke.

The pic is of tomorrow's forecast on the Cullin ridge. Amazing weather for late May. We'll be careful, of course. It might all end in a daring ascent of the North face of the Sligachan Inn... Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android

Hebridean traditional beach craft

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The patter of tiny jokes...

Conversation in queue for ferry: Alex: 'don't they make you queue for a long time here.' Ian: 'It's to let the wee girl sell you winkles.' Trevor: 'not today, she's pulled a muscle.' You have to be here. Bring a coat. Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android

On the edge!

Arrived safe in the Hebridies. The works Galaxy stopped weeping three stroke. Majestic, bleak, windswept, mysterious. But enough about the Ferry toilets. Tis windy and staggeringly empty here but the most gorgeous carribean style beaches. With arctic style windchill. The attached pic shows a pile of stones. I think we're in a quarry. But the critical thing is, Ruth, Bob wasn't here. Honest. Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android