I proceed to recount the following tale, the only way it really can be told. EPICALLY.
So! Well in order to celebrate a temporary freedom -a.k.a., the October holls- two(?) weeks ago last sunday Lyovka and I dragged P&S, much abused, off to Mallaig (they screamed the entire way. Odd looks galore on the train) for four days. This is approximately here;
|N.B. Liking how the font compares to Inverness.|
Monday consisted mostly of rail travel. We rose reasonably early and -finding Princes Street rather more damp than when we had left it- swam hastily on to Waverly station where we proceeded to catch the train to Glasgow by the skin of our teeth.
We found we had had a couple of minutes spare before the next train to Mallaig so I accompanied Papa and Lyov to the nearby Apple store, Papa's IPhone being desperately in need of some protection (a cover). Still, we were in a bit of a hurry to get back- we had left Sylwia stuck in the station, valiantly defending our bags.
I had generously offered Papa some of my own socks, nevertheless he inexpicably decided to buy some from Apple instead.
THE LOCALS GET A SHOCK
It must have been about 6 o'clock that chilly Monday night when the train finally pulled up at that deserted platform. Glasgow lay behind, ahead, Mallaig awaited us.
We staggered into our toasty rooms in a B&B facing out onto the bay. Lyov immediately dumped his mess in a pile before the sink. I ordered him to clear it up, he picked it up and dumped it somewhere marginally less offensive.
Outside the sky grew ominously dark and we each looked, individually quailed, and promptly made the unanimous decision to courageously watch a film.
First though, it had to be done. We braved the outdoors to get some fish and chips.
Now more on this. If, like me, you don't happen to be a massive fan of fish, coming to Mallaig it strikes me you may have a problem. Allow me to demonstrate.
... I have more.
It's important to remember that this is at best a small town, with maybe two main, quite squat streets. So it amazes me that by the time it had sprouted say, it's fifth fishy establishment, someone didn't go;
"Hmmm... you know what, I realise this is a fishing village, but maybe this market is already pretty much taken. (Here's an idea, I'll start an Indian!)".
In fact, I don't think there's even one food-related venue without some marine connection.
So yeah, fish and chips; I shared a takeaway (second sign down) with Sylwia, which amounted to stealing a significant portion of her chips. Mmmm chips...
On the way back I took the opportunity of releasing some of the nervous energy I had been storing up that entire day, and ran flapping (wearing Papa's oversized sailing coat/jacket) all the way home. (Or rather, ran in circles all the way home, round and round an increasingly seasick P&S and Lyov).
When Sylwia(?) asked what I was doing, I replied that it was a metaphor for the intellectual circles I run around them. Lyov then suggested it could alternately be a metaphor for my going round in circles. I prefer my explination.
I think I'm going to have to write this in installments. For now, ta-ta!