Tuesday 18th May
To Newtonmore, not Dalwhinnie...
Then it was Tuesday. A wet Tuesday. So I walked to Dalwhinnie, which was full, despite my emailed room booking so I went to Newtonmore, which wasn't.
The bit in between Dalwhinnie and Newtonmore involved a struggled conversation with a pleasant young man, probably Estonian who's English only stretched to "I go get manager". What's happened to all the Australian Hotel staff in Scotland. Wherefore Lance with his "No bother, mate"?
Anyway harrassed Manager - obviously by now his communication skills are ingrained English/East European comes and says "We no got roomo. We got coach party-o."
I explained about the email last February and he rushed off to consult his liddle computer. I stole some posh sweets from the reception. He came back with my email - printed off...
"You no confirmo" He shouted. (He assumed I was Bulgarian I think).
"Do you wanto cup of tea?" This took me by surprise a bit. "Wanto cuppo teo?" he said making "drinking a cup of tea" motions and smiling. Posh hotel, obviously - he was holding an imaginary saucer. Guilty feelings, obviously.
"Yes pleaso".
A Latvian scuttered off and returned with a tray of tea and biccies.
"Where you wanto go-o. I arrange transporto.. Anywhere." He sighed at the end of the sentence. Communication was such hard work. I toyed with asking for a lift to Montrose-o, but plumped for Newtonmore.
I finished the tea and went to wait outside.
At this point another Challenger arrived. Lets call her Davina, for anonimity's sake.
I knew her quite well from previous challenges. She's padding about in her blisters, saying "hello" big smile and waving and stuff - so I reckon she must remember me. Very proud of her blisters is Davina - and quite rightly too. She often sets off with a walking partner in tow, but never has one by the time she gets to Montrose. Tough lass.
"You pinched my bloody room", I greeted.
"Did I? Oooer. Sorry"
I have to say at this point that my original plan did, in fact, involve a visit to Newtonmore, although this was intentionally to happen via the Citylink bus which hurtles past a layby on the A9 at about 6 o'clock. Making the bus stop in the layby without forcing all the passengers to suddenly join the driver at the front and frightening the Fish Lorry that's just up its backside is a real skill. The new plan, with a free lift into Newtonmore, access to whisky shops and soft beds and a Citylink morning bus back to Dalwhinnie was ideal. There was no way I would stay in Dalwhinnie now. Absolutely no chance.
Then, out of the blue Davina offers to share her double room, but since I was intent on replenishing the whisky supply, and there being no shop in Dalwhinnie, obviously, I politely but gratefully refuse, remarking that she only wants to see my willy and if my wife found out she'd get her dad to kill me.
So, twenty minutes later after a lift in an old Volvo by the bloke from the petrol station, I'm in a pub in Newtonmore asking for B&B. They're full, arrange for me to stay at Brenda's house just up the road for 18 quids.
Later, after shopping for whisky, cakes and wagon wheels (special offer - 2 packs for a pound) I'm checking out the bus times for the next morning when I notice somebody waving at me from inside a pub across the road. It turns out to be Bob and Janet from Consett. Bob is the leader of the fag hags (Rothmans walking club) with whom I often go out for a bit of a trundle.
So we had a good meal - Gigot of Lamb, Cheesecake and Apple Pie - plus severalteen beers - and a good laugh. And I return to Brenda's B&B to watch TV.
Headtorch still in pristine state.
