Once again, we woke up in a Scottish guide book. The view always changing, with the tide and the light, but always delightful. Another van had come in yesterday evening, the woman dressed very nicely, sporting a new pair of Ugg boots. Oh dear, thought Marge, best restrict your walking to the parking area, no off roading in those, totally inappropriate footwear. Mrs Ugg boot, as she became known, parked herself outside her motorhome, (a campervan we think may have been a little too common), in an oversized camp chair, issued herself with a large glass of red and a cigarette and stared at the view, and of course Marge who was blocking it slightly. After a short while her only movement was to take her reluctant greyhound across the road to the edge of the beach, and to replenish the glass of red. This morning, the throne, as the oversized camp chair had become known, was positioned with its back to the view and Marge. Rude, thought Marge. Perhaps Mrs Ugg boot had seen John with his head poking out of the top of Marge's sunroof first thing. Don't worry he's not a peeping Tom, more of a peeping John!
Our drive away from Ardtoe meant negotiating a narrow hilly road, but we were keen to reach Glenuig and some kind of civilisation, as we knew some people might wonder where we were. Also, the couple we met at Ellanebeich who recommended we go to the Ardnamurchan peninsula, had told us you could use the showers at Glenuig village hall, which we did.
Three pounds later, we were clean and fresh, and raring to go on, joining the 'road to the small Isles'. After days and days of narrow, winding, uphill, potholed roads, Marge and Angela felt a little uneasy, they'd both been waiting for this moment, but when it came it was a bit of a shock, they hadn't been used to travelling above 30 mph, (on a good day), for a very long time. By lunchtime, the sun was blazing, and it was warm enough to sit out at a picnic table to eat our lunch in the village of Arisaig.
Whilst travelling we'd had fantastic views of the islands of Eigg, Muck and Rum. After lunch, we took the coast road to Mallaig, wanting to see the white sandy beaches in this area that a couple on Thursday had said we must see, but there was not really anywhere to stop, so as pretty as the coves were, we motored on to Mallaig.
Marge parked with fellow vans, we walked to the nearby ferry terminal, around the tiny town, looked at the fishing boats in the working harbour and bought fish and chips, our second fish and chip supper in less than a week, but who's counting? Oh, Marge is! But as the light began to fade, we began to feel uncomfortable about staying in Mallaig. On route, we'd nearly had an accident when a man turned his small white van across in front of us, despite the fact he was stationary with his hazard warning lights going. After an angry exchange of words on both sides, we were shocked when he pulled up in front of Marge at Mallaig all confrontational. Then John put Angela's batter from her fish, out on a nearby rock for the seagulls, who arrived, devoured it and flew away in seconds. This displeased a rather scruffy man in a pick-up, he muttered something at John, then pulled across in front of Marge, not admiring her, but giving us the evils. What was wrong with these people. That was it. Enough was enough, let's get out of here Marge, we don't feel safe for ourselves or you. So, despite the fading light we decamped back to Arisaig, where having spent nearly fourteen pounds in the village shop on supplies at lunchtime, we felt we should be welcomed.
We had had a good day, until Mallaig, but we have noticed the local people have become less friendly in the last few days, so with a change of weather due, and the fact we have driven the route we came to drive, and seen an awful lot of wonderful sights, we may consider returning home sooner rather than later, we'll see how tomorrow goes. Scotland if Marge leaves, it will be your loss, she'll be taking her English pounds home with her.
