My Personal Blog

I was walking down Argyle Street in Glasgow one Sunday morning with a bear of a hangover, having been to a football match the day before. We had wound up at a party after the game and I was only now heading home. I eventually became aware of being kerb crawled... by a bus. I looked up. Half a dozen panoramic windows of Japanese tourists were hitting me with a full broadside of camera action.

It was the weather of a West Coast exile's dream. Cool, damp, and dull. We looked across the wastes of Rannoch Moor and I breathed deep the fresh air. What a place! "It looks like the set of a 1970s horror film," said my companion. "Screw this, I'm going to the pub." We were at the Kingshouse for a reunion and it seemed that only I wanted a walk. Just as well I like my own company. On Rannoch

Not so long ago bothies were a trade secret. Your best chance of discovering them was to gain the trust of a hillwalker or other gangrel, usually by buying them a drink. Tongue loosened, if they liked the look of you they'd start to ask questions. "Have you ever been to Bob Scotts? Shenavall? Rowchoish?" "No," you'd say, wide-eyed, "I've only ever camped," hoping they would tell you about the