Back from Islay

I visited the island of Islay in 1999 when I used my bike to get about and stayed at a youth hostel for a long weekend. I don't recall it that well, my memories of it weren't all that great I have to admit, but I did revisit it last week with my two friends and their families.

Of course when on holiday the weather has such a big part to play, and Islay certainly is no exception. You can go with great plans but they can all come to little if you can't get out of the door. We were quite at the mercy of the elements in our slightly too flimsy tents, as it turned out to the hefty winds we encountered. Even erecting our tents was like trying to fly a massive kite two feet off the ground! The tents lasted a few days until eventually the wind raised its game even higher and a move was necessary as poles were snapped.

I'm watching Billy Connolly doing a tour of Ireland just now. I'm not a big huge fan but I can watch his tours easily unlike most of the other things on and he is an intelligent commentator on things and I've not noticed any phopas and ignorant generalisations. The thing that Billy gets though is the spirituality of the wilds. In my experience of companions through the Highlands it is quite a rare thing for someone to appreciate the specialness of laying a hand on a wall of a prehistoric house. He does concentrate on the human side of it. There is a reverence required when out in the wilds of Scotland, probably anywhere in the world when out in the sticks, but I am biased and I think that there is more in the mist enveloping a remote beach than in the clouds over a mountain in the English Lake District or the wilds of Yosemite.

I still seem to be a target for tics. Jokingly over dinner I said I'd need to do a search that evening for them as I rolled up a sleeve and there was one slurping my blood as I jested. Goes to show you how discerning of rich blood they are though. But its nay fair - they seem to be able to mess with ones mind and make things not quite right without one realising. Wee buggers. Or make your muscles edgy and just not right. I had more tic bites than midge bits for goodness sake.

It was an experience to be around the 'modern' kid for 24-7 for seven days (though of course I wasn't). I do have to take my hat off to parents, especially of larger families, they are gluttons for punishment. The photo is of two of them as we set out to hunt for mackerel, they both managed to catch soon after, Craig was pretty excited as four decent sized fish all started pulling at once having second thoughts about biting a shiny hook. Emma got a couple too. That's Charles in the background.

They need joiners/handymen around this time of year there (apparently) which is tempting. It would be easy to come out with excuses so I'll have a think about it. It might be quite good for a month or six weeks. The old rural/city conundrum I struggle with.

But Islay is a wild place; the wilds with a few wee shops and plenty of sea views. I would like to go back sometime and take in Jura and Colonsay which the weather held back from me this time. Maybe I should go in the winter when the tics are less hungry lying in the ground, horrible beasties!