Back of Beyond - February 2006

I've been suffering from a bit of blogger's block of late and so have been spending more time reading all the other blogs instead of getting on and posting like a good little blogger. However, Arnish Lighthouse's posts regarding religion and wind power have given me an idea.

I propose turning Lewis and Harris into the 'Wee Free Experience'TM, a cultural, historical, and above all, miserable visitor attraction that has preservation as one of its core values. Visitors can find salvation as they tour the islands 'sinner spotting', try a spot of warbling in Psalmody classes, buy souvenir Sunday hats at JD's, sample the culinary delights of the Free Presbyterian Manse, or simply enjoy the atmosphere of the Co-op in Stornoway five minutes before closing on Saturday night. A trip to the offices of the Stornoway Gazette is a must, to see the very place where the peerless letters page is printed, surely the only local paper left in Britain in which the 'should women wear trousers' debate rages on. No wonder the illustrious Godwin is drawn to us like a moth to the flame. Any other tour suggestions are welcome.

I have based my idea on the Amish people in North America - they seem to make a fortune out of being 200 years out of date, why shouldn't we?

Got back last night from my first trip to the mainland in 7 months. We left on the 7.15 boat on Friday morning, which was bad enough, but then found it was heaving, mainly with small children, including three snotty sticky ones who seemed to think they knew us. Well, we put them straight on that right away, then headed off to the cafe for a cup of lovely Calmac tea, it being too early for chips. By the time we reached Ullapool, the teenage girls in the neighbouring seats had racked up several thousand pounds worth of phone bill ringing each other from across the observation lounge and everyone on board knew the gruesome details of their fledgling lovelives.

A long morning of bickering, clipeing, huffing and nagging followed as we made our chaotic way down the A9 towards Stirling and by the time we stopped at the Hermitage we had even resorted to an excruciating 85 minutes of Jo of the Chalet School on story tape in an attempt to keep the peace. A long walk in the woods improved the situation, but by this time the parental hand was stronger, being as we were less than an hour from the hallowed portals of Tesco Stirling.

We entered the store weary but ecstatic, as faithful pilgrims finally reaching their holy destination. There the comparison ended, and there followed a frenzied scene of pure greed and consumerism, resulting in us leaving the shop 2 hours later with an assortment of unnecessary, expensive and mostly plastic gubbins which will never again see the light of day. Tired but happy, we vowed not to go near the place for another seven months, and spent the rest of the weekend revisiting the fantastic woodlands and countryside of the Carse of Stirling and the Trossachs in beautiful spring weather, resisting even the opportunity to shop on a Sunday. We drove smugly back up the road yesterday, the car stuffed full of trees (don't ask), passing Sainsburys, Asda, B&Q without a second glance, when suddenly I remembered something really important, no, not just important; vital; vitally important even, that we had forgotten to buy on Friday. Can we not just do without? complained my husband, but then he too was seized afresh by the possibility of a new wheel wrench and, grinning, he swung the car off the main road at Inverness and we headed once again for that glorious Cathedral of Things.