Back to Blighty......

Not quite coming back in the same fashion as the WWI and WWII soldiers but we decided that we had better return to the UK to get our wounded motorhome repaired. We'd had so much trouble getting information from the manufacturer "Swift", (I've written to them suggesting that they change their brand name to Escargot), or their licenced dealer, Marquis Motorhomes, who have proven to be as shifty a bunch of new or used vehicle salesmen as we have ever encountered!

Dover harbour, castle and white cliffs from our ferry.

Returning early to the UK turned out to be a wise decision, as there was a tangle of insurance details, repair quotations and the usual Marquis chicanery to overcome. Example - we gave Marquis a list of warranty defects to fix, (some significant, some minor), one of which was hairline cracking to the kitchen sink. The woman from Marquis who assessed it then came back to us, "great news, we've got a replacement for you in stock as we noticed the cracks ourselves before we handed the vehicle over to you".

So, like were they going to tell us or, if we hadn't noticed the cracks, would they just have kept the bowl as a spare?

Still, good news is that we have had our insurance claim approved and Tradewise Insurers take a bow, your service was as good as it could have been, with no delays or prevarication at all. Marquis had recommended a repairer to us who they used for their own purposes and they sent a representative to provide a quote. He managed this without even giving the vehicle a thourough check!

Fortunately we found a reputable repairer who impressed us with his professionalism and thoroughness and we are now just waiting for a date to get the repairs done.

In the meantime, we decided to visit Scotland. Our first stop was intended to be near Thornhill in Dumfriesshire, where I was going to have a day's fishing on the River Nith.

Unfortunately, since my last visit to these parts, the fishing rights on the central Nith had been ceded to the Duke of Buccleuch and a fee of 50 pounds a day now applies. I might have considered this if it was going to a local anglers' association but it goes so much against the grain, (for me) to pay money directly to a hereditary peer, that a swift re-appraisal was made.

We headed to Sanquahar to see if there was somewhere to get a licence but it was impossible to even park near the town so we started looking for a place to stay overnight. This entailed us scouring Ayrshire and following signs for camping and caravanning in various places but despite coming close, (we found a "holiday village" that had a sign saying "no motorhomes or tents",(and it was closed anyway)).

We gave up on Ayrshire and after seeing the worst traffic of our time in Europe on the Glasgow ring road we ended up north of Glasgow, at Loch Lomond, where we were only allowed on to the camp after singing all 11 verses of "By yon bonny banks and by yon bonny braes", plus paying the appropriate fees.

Yon bonny banks, with a couple of braes in the distance!

 

 

The following day, we wandered into Lomond itself, to discover a rather dingy sort of village that has definitely seen better days. The railway station was of a size that would grace a major city but has now been converted to a rather run-down shopping mall. The town centre was dominated by the ugliest mounument that we have yet encountered in Europe. Quite what the crazed stork/albatros/heron at the top signifies, I've no idea. The fountains were all permanently out of action too.

 

 

The monument was to one Alexander Smollett and was supposedly erected in 1870, by his loyal and loving tenants and "feuars", (feuars, being those residents unfortunate enough to be feudal tenants). It turns out that Smollett was both lord of the manor and the local, (conservative of course), MP. The locals certainly knew how to tug the forelock in those days.

  

Despite the local forelock tugging propensities, we had a nice lunch at a local cafe and encouraged by this, we went back to the local chippy for our tea later in the day. I had the usual seafood and chips which were decent enough. Iris however went for the local "Scotch Pie" as she had been encouraged to try these by her sister Phyllis, (a one time scotch resident). This gourmet offering, as we were about to discover, consisted of a common or garden minced meat pie that was deep fried until crispy inside and out and then plonked on top of a carton of chips! An alternative choice on the menu was, (yes, you've guessed it), fried pizza!!

 

For pudding, I avoided the Scottish delicacy of fried mars bars and opted for "Malteser Cake". Thiswas a cake in the sense that it contained icing and maltesers but there was absolutely no sign of cake stuff, the entire thing being icing, maltesers and some solidified pastry of some sort. Yum!

 

Eat your heart out McDonalds - there is unhealthier food than yours!

 

In between lunch and teatime we visited the "Lomond Shores" that is a new shopping mall cum visitor centre, on the edge of the loch. It was the usual trashy tourist trap but located next door was a "Bird of Prey centre that appealed to me but not to Iris because as you may know, I am a bird nut!

 

It was the best value for money in Scotland, as it had a range of UK and other countries' owls, hawks, falcons and eagles. The number one attraction for me was the Golden Eagle. I'd never seen one before in real life and although this was a captive, it was still awe inspiring.

 

 

The eagle is over a metre tall and has a wingspan of about 2.5 metres.

 

 

The owls in the centre were fairly reticent about showing themselves but one or two came out to play. This one has an uncanny look about it that reminded me of one of I's sisters. Which one? I'll leave you to decide.

 



 

 Big sis or little sis??

 

Of all the birds in the centre, my favourite was the ubiquitous Kestrel. These little hawks, (about the size of a skinny pigeon), are found in every corner of Britain and can often be seen hovering above fields and hedgerows, whilst waiting for their prey to show. There were two of them here and they were full of cheeky cheeps and chirps and even though they were tethered, often flapped madly, straining against their leashes and didn't seem to get upset by their restraints but rather enjoy the exercise.

 



 

 Little Kes!

 

 

Righto, that's all for this post. The next you hear we'll be in Edinburgh.