The whole trip started out with a familiar misunderstanding between me and Annette, with my better half ignoring me again and getting the wrong end of the stick. My part time teaching was never going to amount to much and I consulted with her about taking the job because it was poorly paid by most standards but, more importantly there would only be two weeks holiday at the peak of summer break and two over Christmas. All I got was “well it’s better than nothing” and she carried on watching some banal soap type programme on TV.

Come the end of June and she decides it’s time to book a holiday and then the poop hits the fan as she has let somebody else book the first week in August and that is my first of two weeks off so we now are down to only one week together (usually seems like a year). Now we could have gone to stay with Derek but, over this period the flights are predictably at their most expensive and even strapped to the rear wings on Ryan- air would have cost more than a package holiday 10 days either side of this slot.  I did suggest Berlin but, just got a dirty look (and that was all I got!)

Anyway she then decides it will have to be Scotland as we haven’t got two weeks and there isn’t enough time to fly off anywhere else. Then we get the travel veto – no flying, despite telling her it would be at least a ten hour journey by coach and even the idea of travelling by car and splitting the journey was poo-pooed as asking for the machine to join the great scrapheap in the sky. Three travel brochures later and we are into July and she still hasn’t made her mind up but, I must admit I have always wanted to go to the Highlands and I looked on Google and found a short break 4 nights/5 days (lying swines, 2 days travelling) that was based at Dingwall and included a trip to Skye and Loch Ness & Inverness.

With the royal approval I booked up and then we waited for the tickets. I had meanwhile found out that Dingwall was the Viking capital of the Highlands and was on the Firth of Cromity or perhaps the river of that name to be more precise. The tickets only arrived on the Tuesday as we set off the Monday and I was getting more stick about not having any tickets, but by now I was way past caring. When they arrived I was pleased to see departure time was a reasonable 0805 hours.

So the first coach was reasonably comfortable and we made our way up the motorway to a service area where the various passengers were swapped over according to which holiday destination they had selected. This was about three hours away from Wolverhampton and despite getting some kip I was already getting cramped and sick of the travelling. It was therefore a welcome respite when it transpired that one of the coach drivers had got lost and the change over would be delayed by at least an hour so I could have a good wander about and get the blood flowing in my legs again. Annette did not look impressed 🙂

Eventually they had a full set and suitcases and passengers were swapped and we ended up on an L reg coach with at least a six hour journey ahead of us without any ‘comfort’ stops. I put on the music and tried to sleep but, the seats were not very comfortable, however, any motor vehicle brings out the Rip Van Winkle in me and I dozed through most of the bleak industrial landscapes. Then I watchedfor a couple of hours and we were into more interesting landscapes and nearly there.

On the way there I saw the holiday nutter sitting in front of us and was mighty glad when he swapped seats to start talking to another couple nearer the back. Of course I knew who we would end up with on our table at meal times, but at least I could doze my way to Scotland peacefully.  Our driver was a pleasant enough Scouser who did his beast to get us there quickly but, he wasn’t big on chat, non of the “over there you will see a hill and we are now passing a pub….” His main point of interest to me was his resemblance to Billy Corkhill He did however, let us know roughly when we would get to the hotel and phoned them half hour before we arrived to let them know to get food and drinks ready, which to me was good thinking.

So still in daylight and with nothing more serious than light drizzle wa arrived at the National hotel, Dingall that had the look of a neglected Sherlock Holmes haunt. our room was the left front with the window almost opening onto the balcony.  I say almost because although the window still moved a little the sash operation was as old as the building and without wishing to cripple myself I could only raise it 3 feet. However that was high enough to see there was enough debris out there to fill several large sacks and so Annette’s dreams of sitting on the balcony overlooking the world were unfulfilled.

The room was clean and tidy and quite large, complete with a tv the remote fro which required a £20 deposit. As Annette commented, there were so many old folk on the trip most of them probably took the remotes home with them, but I still considered this an unnecessary charge, have they no heard of the £1 shop? I was quite happy to live without the TV, there was live entertainment most of the week and I did not travel all that way to watch Coronation Street.

We just about had time to unpack a few things and have a quick scrub up before dinner and guess who we had at our table? The crazy man from the coach and his long suffering wife. I must point out here that I liked him immediately (perhaps I was being shown the future!), Tony and his wife Anne were pretty good company. It turned out we both liked Ken Dodd and the fact that he was constantly being told to shut up and eat took a lot of the flak off me  at mealtimes  🙂  They were from Manchester or might have been Oldham, Tony was rarely serious and spoke that much it was easy to miss small details. He was always happy and I found myself sticking up for him when his wife kept telling him to apologize for everything.

Later, while Tony and me were fetching drinks Annette learned from his wife that he had not always been like that but, his son who had been a ‘bad un’ had been found one night by the police bent over with a needle stuck in the back of his neck. They knew he had been taking drugs, but as he was with 5 other victims it still remains an open case and is little doubt that it was murder. If that is not enough to push you to the limits I don’t know what is. I found his good humour all the more remarkable.

The meal was pretty good the food was very tasty and of sufficient size to satisfy even my appetite.  It was however, always on the pretentious side of tasty for my liking. For example, the one menu had nothing I would eat but, Annette insisted on ordering me Gammon in peach and pineapple sauce.  This was the plainest dish on the menu but, even so we nearly came to blows as I hate wasting food and was almost certain I would not eat this as I do not like peaches or pineapples. Mores to the point I do not like being told what to eat like a naughty school boy even if I am behaving like one.  Sure enough it turned up swimming in the sauce and looked steamed to me and covered in the foul tasting liquid that looked like somebody had poured lucozade all over it.  I gave it a go but, the sauce was everywhere and flavoured everything, the meat was not done enough fro me and so as I thought it was wasted. However, to be fair that was the worst meal and another weird mix of chicken with a coating of haggis turned out to be very tasty.  The breakfasts were fine too, a proper cooked fry up with the usual toast, fruits and cereals. Only trouble was they tried to limit the amount you took by only putting out side plates – they underestimated my balancing powers and I rarely needed anything else until evening meal.

After dinner I thought we should have a look around the town, largely to try and get some circulation back into my legs and besides I noticed the hotel was right next to a war memorial and I wanted to have a closer look.  It turned out to be for the Seaforth Higlanders the local regiment and was mostly for the First World War but some of the second and Korea too.                                                                                 After that is was head back the other way towards the town, it was not quite 22:00 hours and was reasonably light still but, the place was deserted. We passed three nice looking pubs that were all closed and I was beginning to think  prohibition was in force when we found a scuddy looking cross between a working mens club and a big screen sports bar. Well I was hoping they would have some decent beer so in we went. I guess the clue should have been the floor acting like a giant sheet of fly paper on my shoes, they only had John Smiths or McKewans lager.  One pint was enough and we wandered around the back end of the town and found a Lidl; all was not lost, got some emergency crisps and drinks before returning to the hotel for the night.

The Tuesday, our first full day in Scotland was a free, do as you will day, largely I suspect because of the hours the driver had put in on the journey north. Anyway, I thought we might have a look at the MacDonald memorial that overlooked the town and then the river seeing as Annette is mad on boats and it would give me a little more exercise before the next days travel to Loch Ness. The weather was reasonable, a little drizzle to start but, then clearing to sunshine so it was not going to be a problem.

While I checked the map in the reception Annette had wandered over to the local bus stop and discovered it went up the coast to a ferry point to one of the isles. Now by my estimate it would have been at least another two or three hours on a bus there and back and we had no idea what times the ferries would be sailing or if there was anything on the island when we got there. I politely told her she was welcome to go and sit on a bus for another  three hours if she wanted but, I was going to walk until my legs fell off. Didn’t go down too well but, I was not going to sit on a damn bus for all that time again after a 8 hour epic the day before.

She was a little disappointed but, was not prepared to go alone so off we went down Dock road (clues in the name) towards the river that led out into the Firth of Cromity. We were almost on the river when Annette decide we had gone far enough and we returned to the town for a look round there instead. She suggested we climb up to the MacDonald memorial which I thought would be unlikely as it was on the side of a hill looking down on the hotel.  Anyway, it turned out to be a pleasant stroll up a windy lane that did not exert the body to any great extent despite looking as though the hill rose to a great height, it was very deceiving.     Sir Hector Archibald MacDonald  was born on the Black Isle, about 20 minutes away from Dingwall and worked at a greengroucers in the town until he was 15 when he joined the Gordon Highlanders as a private soldier. As you can read on the link he had an extrodinary career, even out doing Sharpe in the promotion stakes and was then chosen by Camp Coffee as the face of their drink.
The memorial was set in the middle of the local cemetery and Annette (she see dead people) took some interest in the stones as they were slightly unusual as many of the wealthy memorials were cylindrical columns.

The entrance to the tower was locked but, we later found out while talking to the local bookshop owner that it had been possible to get the keys from the town hall and climb to the top in the past. That would have been some view I imagine as we could see most of the countryside from the cemetery anyway, including the non existent river 5 minutes away from the point Annette made us turn back 🙂  The memorial was flanked by four cannon and had been built by local subscription to honour their local hero despite the scandal that surrounded him before his suicide. According to local legend, that was more to do with the fact he had come up through the ranks and then obtained money in an ungentlemanly fashion by advertising, that any truth to the accusations.

On the way back down for our second shot at the river, I noticed a small grave tucked into a corner behind some trees close to the entrance. When I went over I found it was the grave of a Seafury pilot that had crashed into the hill opposite in 1952. Our bookshop man knew of the story but, was not aware the pilot was burried on the hill and was most interested.

We stopped for a tea and then went down to the Viking docks which proved to be no more than a few sea weed encrusted stumps, well what do you expect after 1,000 years.     The narrow strip of water you can see between the posts was part of the Dingwall canal the most northerly canal constructed in Britain.  The river was clearly tidal and as you might be able to make out from the picture the tide was out leaving a muddy foul smelling beach behind. In fact, every time we got to see the coast on this journey the tide was always out, rather strange but, I expect if we had a timetable we could have watched the tide come in.

The canal itself was rather strange by comparison to our local built equivalents. The walls on Telford’s canals were all perpendicular while this canal was of a  semicircular brick  build.  In the local museum there were woodcut showing the construction so it may be a Scottish thing or to do with the time of it’s construction, I do not know.

On the river there was a tourist trap Viking tent, the only reference we saw in the town of the fact historically Dingwall was a Viking capital in Scotland.  There were four young ‘actors’ who had a camcorder and would equip you in a Viking outfit and film you were you so inclined and crossed their palms with silver.  They had a fair bit of kit but, I just thought of the last encounter I had with the Vikings at Ragley Hall and could not be bothered.

We followed the canal back towards the town centre and it led us to the other major focal point for the locals, quite a large Tesco. this far north, it was clear that a town that almost made Willenhall look like a city, was important enough for two rival supermarkets to fight for the business. We also passed what I took to be a folly on castle road; a small gatehouse style tower that was literally falling to bits and apparently that was the local castle! No pictures though, I did not think it was genuine and neither did Annette.

The strange little museum did not open until after 11:00 hours but, it was still open when we walked back from Tesco and I let Annette go back for a pint while I had a good look round in peace.  Pretty much dedicated to the Seaforth Highlanders, as expected with some local life interactive features; “hear the sounds of the local blacksmith and his family as they prepare for tea.”  It was quite a good display considering the size of it and the town so I was glad I’d had a look round. Of course there was more about their MacDonald and I cannot say I blame them.  I found Annette in her favourite pose, sitting in the sunshine with a drink watching the world go by.

There was also a small railway station there that we rather foolishly did not examine as it turned out that one of the best views of the lochs and rivers between Dinglwall and the Isle of Skye was to be had on the railway journey as the track ran alongside of the waters nearly all the way there. ‘Billy Corkhill‘  let us know about this on the way back from the coach trip. Now that I think that would have been a good trip and I would have willingly gone along as I could have stood with my head out of the window most of the way there and back. Maybe next time.  We had by now pretty well exhausted Dingwall and as it was getting close to mealtime wandered back into the hotel.

More enjoyable ramblings at scoff time with Tony and Anne and meal was quite tasty. Having decided that the town was not worth exploring any further apart from the supermarkets for survival rations we went into the hotel bar for the entertainment and a drink.  The drinks were about 30p dearer than the ‘fly trap’ down the road but, I considered it worth it even though they had run out of ‘dark’ and ‘light’ from the Black Isle brewery, delivery is on Wednesdays. The dark, when it arrived proved to be nice real ale with more of a red colouring to the eye than dark and the light had the taste of a real mild. Annette was happy with the light and I was more than happy with the dark.

So the entertainment; well I was impressed as it was a local piano accordionist billed as a musical comedian.  His dry style of humour amused me but, fell on deaf ears with Annette. It was quite strange to see him play as his accordion was connected to a magic electronic box and at one point he used his keyboard to play ‘stranger on the shore’ like a clarinet. I thought this was far superior to the rubbish teenage Arabs miming to ‘Grease lightning’ or other musical tunes but, apparently it was not good enough for her ladyship and after a couple of drinks we went back up to the room, we were pretty much on our own by then the horlicks and steradent brigade had long since gone up the wooden hill to the land of nod.