I am on holiday, Day 12

We are in Scotland now, on Skye, and it feels just right:  both like I remember it and far more astonishing than I thought it was. Marrakech was the dogs because we were there for my little brother's wedding, but somehow it wasn't surprising, and I felt like I had already been.

On top of and in addition to the vague lack of surprise, it was hotter than a mosquito's tweeter, and I am the enthusiast of the colder climate as, also, is my "husband", a French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist who is able to walk uphill on ice.  (I am also an enthusiast of food, esp the 'cuisines' of the Middle East, and I was astonished that I didn't like specifically Moroccan food more; it is very sweet, and I do not like very sweet things much.   Highest per capita consumption of sugar in the world in Morocco, apparently. Yarp.)

I had allowed 7 hours to get from Heathrow from Euston to get the sleeper to Inverness, but no need, Oh no, for Royal Air Maroc were efficient and also on time, and we emerged burping into the tube strike at Paddington like two sunburnt food-poisoned moles concentrating hard on holding in their waterpoos.   We chanced our arms: using the power of our mouths, could we bend the minds of the coach attendants to persuade them that our 23p inflexible ticket could be transferred to the 9.15pm sleeper to Inverness rather than the 11.50pm to Edinburgh? Yes we could. We achieved this feat by me keeping my mouth shut and my "husband" asking Lucille, the attendant lady, about Manitoba.

Eleven hours, haggis, neeps and tatties, half a bottle of red wine and some surprisingly peaceful sleeping later, we arrived in Inverness. Because I am trying to be true to the original point of this "Travelblogue", I will now show you the bed we slept in last night.  I had the bottom, and my enticing "husband" the top:

The drive from Inverness to Skye is the bollocks. We stopped at the famous castle that has excellent fake puddings in its fake kitchen: 

And we drove slowly behind Bert and Elma, who I think were invented before the Highway Code, and were therefore incapable of driving faster than 32mph: 

And then we got to Skye, and we went to the supermarket and did not buy this: 

And we found our cottage and sat by the window and looked out of it, because what we saw out of the window was better than the best film you have ever seen, e.g. Working Girl or Terminator 2. 

Tomorrow, for a walk, our knapsacks full of nuts and cheese sandwiches. 

Pip McPip

NWM