Old Before Our Time

Yup. Ullapool’s lovely, but we’re probably the only people here who are under the age of seventy. This is not something that bothers me though as I LOVE old people. Like, really love them. I love speaking to old people, films about old people, books about old people and just old people in general. Well, apart from my Grandma – she was a bit of a scary lady. Terrifying, really.

Aaaaanyway, so yes, we’ve reached Ullapool. It was a nice journey, actually. I insured my boyfriend on the car so I was able to just kick back and have a wee snooze. I woke up when we arrived and it was absolutely pissing it down – pretty standard weather for here I’m guessing, although yesterday was quite sunny. I keep trying to tell my boyfriend that I’m actually a little sunburnt, but he’s adamant that the redness of my cheeks is due to the copious amounts of red meat and butter I eat.

So we checked in and I’m pretty sure the hotel owner took a double take when he saw us. It did feel as though we were 12 year olds playing at being grown-ups, but he took us to our room and after another wee snooze (we definitely belong amongst the older generation), we headed out to wonder around the town and try a pub called The Seaforth – the place where I finally got my long awaited for mussels. I was going to take a photo of them to put on here, but I couldn’t stop eating. They were served in a creamy, garlic sauce and were absolutely delicious. I don’t know why you never get a spoon to go with your mussels because the sauce is definitely the best bit. I usually use one of the mussel shells to scoop it out the bowl, which I think actually adds to the flavour, but you do end up with sticky, fishy sauce all over your hands and running down your arms, but I don’t mind that.

We then headed to another pub called The Ferry Boat Inn and we were lucky to bag a comfy seat by a window that was decorated with fairy lights and overlooking the harbour. Ah, there’s nothing quite like a pint and good view to make you feel content. There was also a couple of couples sitting next to us who I was hoping to make friends with and as we were leaving the pub, I saw my chance! One was taking a photo of the three others so I offered to take a photo of all four of them. I was met with the reply, “Oh yes please, you’ll know how to work this phone better than I do”, but I didn’t. I ended up taking a video of them and had to ask my boyfriend to do it. They then told us to have a good night and wondered off in the opposite direction so my hopes of friendship were dashed.

Ach weel.

The next day, we had a proper wonder around the town and came across lots of jam and short bread and tartan. Classic Scotland. We then went on a wee boat trip to see some seals. We saw the seals and I guess they were cute, but I couldn’t help flinching at their shimmying down the rocks. I know they’ll have tough skin, but it still looked sore. The tour guide was a bit useless as well. He didn’t tell us anything. He just parked the boat next to the seals and we sat there for half an hour, listening to people go “Awwww…” He then took us around the corner, and parked there for another 15 minutes, but I wasn’t sure what we were meant to be looking at. There were a few seagulls and a lot of rock, but that couldn’t be it, could it? I think everyone else was a bit confused as well. There was one confused “Awwww…?” and that was it.

Back on land, we returned to the hotel for another snooze before setting off for dinner and this time we thought we would try The Ferry Boat Inn as all the food we saw there the night before looked really good. And BY JOVE it was. I really wanted to get mussels again so we got some to share for a starter and they were even better than the ones I had the night before and what’s more, SHE GAVE US A SPOON! Finally, a woman after my own heart. It was funny that it was only one spoon she gave us. It’s like she knows drinking the sauce is only something some people do. We both had scampi and chips for our main course, which I’m sure was delicious, but I hadn’t eaten in 12 hours and before eating my mussels, I’d had a pint of cider, so naturally, I felt a bit drunk and sick. My boyfriend told me to stop eating my scampi, but I powered through and sure enough, the scampi soaked up the alcohol (hehe, drunken little scampi) and I was right as rain.

We also decided to go to The Ferry Boat Inn because they had an open mic night on so we thought we’d be in for lots of music and laughs. We were. A group of older people joined our table and didn’t stop talking about sex – or “bonking” as they called it – the entire night. They come to Ullapool every summer, by the sounds of it, and rent a bungalow that sleeps around ten people. They hit tea rooms by day and pubs by night and all I have to say, is that retirement looks AWESOME!!! After a few pints, my boyfriend then got up and played, and by the end of the night, I had to fight the old ladies (and a few old men) off him with their walking sticks.

So that’s us up to date. This morning I had haddock and a poached egg for breakfast – trying to be healthier – and it was nice, but I missed my sausages and black pudding. Tomorrow, there’s always tomorrow. As for now, we’re away for a wee drive to Gairloch.

But not before another snooze.

Don’t Drink and Mop

Turns out, the tax payers are pissed off:

Better Together Customer (irritable) : On holiday again?

Me (apologetically): Yeah, I seem to have more holidays than I do classes…

I giggle half-heartedly in the hope that I bring him out of his despondence. No such luck.

Better Together Customer (highly unamused): Mmm. And it’s my taxes that are paying for you.

And then he left without a “thank you” or a “goodbye”. I wondered what had got his knickers in a twist since he’s usually a very nice customer – one of my favourites – but now I may have to sneeze on his change.  It’s probably the whole stress of his leaflets being hidden (and his taxes, I guess). Although, when I think back on yesterday, it was a very grumpy day overall. The owners were once again tethered to the Spar after their lovely holiday away so that’s probably why they were tetchy; the other staff had been working long hours while the owners were away so that’s probably why they were tetchy, and I guess the villagers were just fed up with the sunshine:

Me: Hello! Enjoying the lovely sunshine?

Lobster Customer: No. Ah jist cannae get anythin’ done in this bloody heat!

Me: Oh. Yes, terrible. Terrible. Let’s hope it stays away tomorrow and the rain, sleet, hail, and wind come rushing back.

Ok, I didn’t say that last bit, but seriously, thank goodness there’s the weather otherwise no one would have anything to complain about.

But everyone was significantly chirpier today – probably because it’s Friday and they were all away to get pissed. It was my turn to be grumpy this time, although my boss did give me a glass of wine while I mopped up, which was…strange. I didn’t really want it (because being Scottish, I’m just a manic binge drinker), but my boss is very difficult to say no to. He just asks and asks and asks until you want to kill him and so say yes instead as it’s a lot less messy. So I had the glass of wine and I thought it would be ok; that there couldn’t be that many units in the one glass. My Dad, who’s been on the course, always says that it’s ZERO TOLERANCE, but I told myself that it would only be this one time; that I would never do it again. Turns out, one time is all it takes and that after only one glass, my judgments became cloudy and my reactions too slow – a jar of Lloyd Grossman’s Chicken Korma was no more.

So don’t drink and mop, kids. The curry stains will play upon your mind forever.

Easy Peasy, Nice’N’Sleazy

So I promised a ‘Hot Balkan Instrumental Orgy’, but as drunken nights tend to go, plans were not followed through. Basically, I am a FAILURE at this whole focused blog thing. Seriously, I’m beginning to think that the only thing I’m good for is loving cats.

The thought of going to the Glasgow School of Art, however, was causing a bit of pre-night out jitters. I only know a few people from the art school, but they all have that effortlessly cool look that would cost me £100 in Urban Outfitters to achieve – £100 that I do not have and so therefore cannot achieve. The pictures of the event also looked extremely crowded which was adding to my nerves.

God, I’ve just realised that I would be the worst travel writer EVER.

But anyway, I did go to Nice’N’Sleazy for the first time – a bar in Glasgow that is renowned for it’s ‘hipster vibe’. I’m still not exactly sure what a hipster is, but I have heard that they reject all things mainstream and I just can’t decide if this bar/club is mainstream or not. The music was completely foreign to me and there was definitely something different about the crowd…

Stranger at the bar: ‘Man, this song, it just goes through my TEETH, you know?’

Me: ‘Yeah…yeah, it’s a real…teeth breaker?’

And everyone was very nice and polite – no pushing at the bar, no dodgy grinders on the dance floor, the only drink spilt on my dress was my own…but as for the actual bar/club, I don’t really know what sets it apart from other places. At the end of the day, a room filled with sweaty bodies and a smoke machine is just another club and while I had a really good night, I think I’d rather be in The Garage (known for it’s somewhat scaffy vibe) where the drinks are cheap, the dodgy grinders are dodgeable, and even if the songs don’t go through my teeth, I know the lyrics and can sing my drunken heart out.

Bottoms Up

 

Yesterday was the annual highland games in my village – something that was described by a close friend as being “better than christmas” and, while another close friend said that that was by far the saddest thing he had ever heard, I had to agree. Oh how I remember the days when I was younger, waking up to the sound of distant bag pipes, jumping out of bed, and running down the track in my pyjamas to catch a glimpse of the mighty pipe band strutting their stuff. The games, what we’d been waiting for all year, had finally ARRIVED!

Ok, maybe we’re a little sad. But you have to understand that there’s not much in our village. Our park consisted of a dodgy rope swing, a climbing frame no one understood, and some sort of special turf thing that seemed to inflict more injuries than it prevented. To our younger selves, the highland games meant the bright lights of waltzers, three-legged races, eating burgers and candy floss until we were sick and our parents being too drunk to remember our bedtimes.

And then we grew up and it became about us getting too drunk to remember our bedtimes.

And then we grew up some more and I got a job in the local shop and so was there during the games, serving the dizzy, sugar high kids and the dizzy, liquored up adults.  

I was working there yesterday, enduring a questionable version of the song, Jolene.

“Josie, Josie, Josie, Josieeeeeeeeeeee, I’m beggin’ of you please don’t keep my changeee…”

And all I could think about was how I couldn’t wait to get as drunk and embarrassing as them.

I don’t drink all that often, but really bloody enjoy it when I do. Everything is dandy, everything is funny, and everyone is lovely. Even that bitch you always hated. You just misunderstood her. But then you wake up, feeling sick from that entire roast chicken you devoured at six in the morning and wondering whether those flash backs of pulling a dog are from an alcohol fuelled dream or if it actually happened.</p>

It did.

Then come the hangover blues. Aren’t they a treat. What the hell do I think I’m doing with my life? I’m such a waster. Ugh, look at me. Lying here, stewing in my own filth, eating my weight in Wispa Mini Bites, watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch, thinking Salem’s done more things than me. I mean, at least he tried to take over the world, that’s something, and now he’s a cat, who wouldn’t want to be a cat? I may as well be a cat, for all I do. Eat and Sleep. God, I’m so fat and lazy. Why don’t you get out on that bike, you big, fat, waster. Everyone else is cooler than you. They’re out doing interesting things while you’re just lying here. That’s right, just go ahead and click another episode. You’ve probably forgotten how to ride a bike anyway.

But ah, fuck it. Those drunken nights are worth it. And the dog wasn’t half bad.