Pitlochry

We were in no rush to leave this morning. The wind was lighter, but it was still raining. It was eleven o' clock before we'd tidied Marge and put her washing machine away. As we pulled out of our space a warning light came on. What now Marge? Side light bulb gone. Thank god. Nothing major then. After a while it went out. Stop messing around Marge. The drive this morning was challenging. As the wind blew a curtain of rain across the road the visibility was not great. What on earth was it like on the Isle of Skye? We'd left there to escape this weather. At Spean Bridge we took the road towards the Cairngorms National Park. Then the sun came out.

We stopped at the Laggan Dam. And the sun went in. We've just got to go with it, Marge. 

Leaving the rolling hills of the Cairngorms behind we found ourselves on the A9. To us and Marge it felt like being on a motorway after all the single-track roads of the last two weeks. The fast road took us up to 1,519 feet above sea level. Flippin' heck Marge, we're really living life in the fast lane. 

Our stop tonight is at Pitlochry. For some reason the vans are only allowed in one of the car parks. With Marge are 13 other vans and a micro camper which is right next to us.

A Citroen Berlingo, the same car as we have back at home. We have recently bought a boot jump to turn our Berlingo in to a micro camper to use for overnight kayaking trips, so were interested to see the man's set up. It was pretty well stocked, which we suppose he needed as he'd been travelling around Scotland for three months. We might bring our micro camper up to Scotland, we'll see. We'd have to call it Wee Margie. Charming thought Marge, just forget about me. Never. 

Angela had wanted to return to Pitlochry as she had fond memories of visiting the town when she was twelve years old and came to this area on a family holiday. She remembers the lovely farmhouse B&B they stayed in and the pretty town. That pretty town has gone. Busy, touristy, lots of empty shops, including large knitwear and tartan shops. Covid had obviously deprived the town of the foreign visitors it so relies on.

Despite the light rain, we walked down to the dam and the fish ladder, past the Pitlochry Festival Theatre and back to Marge via a leafy lane where the signs of autumn showed. 

Back at Marge Angela was a little sad that her memories of the town were a little dashed. Pitlochry had moved on. There was even a Greggs here now. Bacon roll for breakfast tomorrow Marge?