I know, I know, the photo is crap. But I hadn’t read last week’s newspaper yet, so I didn’t know about this, and was therefore unprepared. Scout & I were out for our evening walk when dozens of lit-up tractors and trucks rolled by, honking and tra-la-la-la-ing. They were moving at a fair clip, I only had my cell phone, and Scout was not happy about the sound & light display. Hence, the crap photo.

This is an annual fundraising event, with all proceeds going to a number of local charities. Best of all, it’s basically social distancing on wheels so it could go ahead, plague notwithstanding.

*Both Scout & I got our needles this afternoon – I’m trusting the NHS & vet didn’t confuse who got what shot.

Scout met the cutest doodle at the hotel last night. Tex and his lovely family had just travelled up from London (it takes longer to get from London to Oban than it does to get from Calgary Alberta to Regina Saskatchewan). Tex was every bit as chill and friendly as Scout and they definitely hit it off.

I’m afraid it had to be a one-night stand, as his family was heading on to one of the smaller western isles, and we were heading home. But they’ll always have Oban.

(And yes, before anyone points out that they’re not even looking at each other; they were both playing it cool in front of the paparazzi.)

I don’t get British bathrooms.  First of all, there’s the whole separate hot tap / cold tap thingy. I understand why a century ago the hot water pipes came from the boiler, separate from the cold pipes. But by the time WW II had come and gone, surely technology had advanced to a single, adjustable faucet.  I know we’d figured it out in Canada by the sixties. And yet, the Brits continue to build bathrooms with sinks with cold water freezing their right hand, while hot water scalds their left, instead of a stream of water at exactly the desired temperature.  Unfathomable.

Then there’s the shower. I like to think I’m a reasonably competent person, but UK hotel showers are beyond my capabilities.  And I know it’s not just me; two (equally competent) friends and I traveled to London years ago. After struggling for a good half hour to make the shower work – each of us took a shot at it – we finally called down to the front desk and the hotel owner came up to demonstrate how to turn it on. Between figuring out which knob adjusts the temperature, and which lever directs the appropriate showerhead (there is always at least two showerheads), and how to turn the damned thing on or off, well, it’s all very stressful. I never did figure out how to get hot water in that hotel in Stirling; that was a cold, brisk wash that day.

I did manage to master all the dials and levers here, but that in turn leads to another bone to pick: water pressure. Again, I find it incomprehensible – if flushing the toilet can generate such torrents (really torrential), why must the shower be a such a wimpy drizzle? Even the shower in my house is a weak one; after two months of well, really, rinses is the best word to describe them, I was so looking forward to a proper, hot, powerful shower here in Oban. But no, this hotel continues to maintain British plumbing standards. Unfathomable.

If I had to spend Christmas alone, and let’s face it, whether I were away or at home, it would have been a solo holiday again this year, Oban is a beautiful place to be.

My hotel overlooks the harbour and the islands and hills across the bay. It’s bright and sunny today; the colours on the hills & cliffs and in the sea are absolutely glowing. I couldn’t have picked a better place.

Scout & I walked up Pulpit Hill this morning – God, I’m getting old – I’m sure it was neither that steep nor that high, but, well, whatever. It was worth it – the views were stunning. We could see all the way to the Roman Amphitheatre on Battery Hill. I had forgotten that the Romans had made it into Scotland – my sisters reminded me of some buildings near where our parents grew up. Very interesting. Of course, it turned out this amphitheatre is a folly built by a Victorian gentleman, and no Romans were involved. Ah well.

Well my eyes are being opened by British coach tour groups. I decided that since my trip was paid for, I’d come on this coach tour and just isolate really really well. Because I drove myself, am dining at my own table for one, and there are at least 3 other tour companies here from all over the UK, I have no idea who the people are from my group. And I won’t be finding out as I am not going on the coach excursion to Inverary. It’s only 10 of us on a full sized coach, which would probably be safe but I don’t care. There are several people here who don’t wear a mask in the hotel or are sloppy about it. Omicron, people, Omicron.

Oban is v pretty – am going to walk around here all day. My hotel room is tiny, which is fine; I knew that would be the case. But I also know almost half our group cancelled and neither the tour company nor the hotel took the opportunity to upgrade me to one of those now-empty but still paid-for rooms. I could have asked but it hadn’t occurred to me until I had unpacked everything and (a) my room is only one flight up and (b) has a great view, and who knows what I’d end up in instead.

One of my neighbours in Milton keeps going on about how awful British cuisine is, but up until now every meal I’ve had out here in Scotland has been delicious. Last night’s hotel dinner (smoked mackerel, then cod in a parsley sauce was quite good – uninspired, but good – I get the feeling the coach-tour clientele prefer the familiar for their meals).

But then came breakfast. Oh dear. There is a young family of tourists staying here (I’m assuming tourists from their accents) – I wanted so badly to tell them at breakfast that not all UK food is like this. The potato scones were like shoe leather and the Lorne sausage was like a rock. My knife literally (and I use the word ‘literally’ correctly here) – my knife literally couldn’t cut through either. The toast was fine and you really can’t screw up canned baked beans so I won’t starve. But I could almost hear my neighbour’s voice whispering, “See, I was right.”

I am almost certainly the youngest person here – clearly this is a holiday option for the elderly. A gentleman from Newcastle explained that what I’m seeing is more of a Corona-coach tour – fewer organized events, people distancing, a lot more alone time, etc.. So I really can’t tell if this something I would do again. Scout is the belle of the ball – everyone’s fave.

I love saying that out loud.  Drumnadrochit. A few years ago a friend and I were touring the highlands and we stayed in this same inn in the village of Drumnadrochit, and had one of the more memorable evenings of our trip. Partly because it was the only night we truly ‘tied one on’ (the dead soldiers in our room the next morning were embarrassing), and that same evening we teamed up with two brilliant young women we met in the pub (they contributed significantly to same soldiers). The evening was a blast.

 When I was planning my trip down to Oban, I decided to break it halfway so I wouldn’t have to worry about driving in the dark. So Drumnadrochit seemed a good choice.  The inn is very cosy, as is the pub (and check out their logo- how cute is that?). I had booked a table ahead of time and as it turned out, they assigned me the same table BN and I had had years ago, so I asked the waiter to take my picture to send her – I’m sure he and the other patrons thought, “wow, isn’t she vain.”

Having a dog is a good thing. Last time I was here we went for a walk that was maybe 10 minutes long at most (we may have been a tad hungover. Hard to say.). But Scout needs more than that so this morning she and I really explored the village and the paths around it – what a beautiful part of the country – I wouldn’t have seen that without Scout with me.

Well, the sun just set on the shortest day of the year – and it was a lovely day too. There is a closed cairn called Maeshowe not far from here – a 5,000 year old ‘building’ (covered mound) and its interior is all lit up by the winter sun in the days surrounding the solstice.

This year they had hoped to capture that light from the setting sun in a live streaming at exactly 3:15 but the clouds got in the way – the YouTube video that Historic Environment Scotland has posted is still very interesting, nonetheless. (And they’ve provided closed-captioning to help with the Orcadian dialect 🙂 ).

I’ve been meaning to start noting down some of the differences I see between here & home (not things like driving on the other side of the road, or the fact that it rains more here – duh) but things I hadn’t known or think others might not know.  I thought I’d start with Christmas.

1. Santa Claus/Father Christmas doesn’t come from the North Pole in Canada.  Father Christmas lives & works in Lapland, in northern Scandinavia.
2. The robin (the European robin, not the North American one) is a symbol of Christmas.  Ornaments and cards are covered in them.
3. Major department stores compete to see whose TV Christmas commercials can make people cry the most.  The whole country waits each year for the new ads.
4. I’ve always wanted to try chipolatas – a little sausage that is ALWAYS served with turkey (I read about it in every Maeve Binchy or Joanna Trollope book, heard about it on every British TV show, and it’s mentioned in every UK cookery book).  I imagined something exotic and spicy and looking like a little cocktail weenie, but it turns out they’re just small pork sausages.  Very nice, but nothing revolutionary.
5. This next one may just be Orkney and other rural communities: almost everything closes for at least a week: the library, garbage collection (mine is going back in the freezer, I guess), a couple of delivery companies.
6. There is a tradition in Kirkwall called the ba’. The Ba’ is played on Christmas Day & New Year’s Day in the centre of town.  Imagine a rugby scrum, but 20 times bigger.  Over 300 men, some from Up-the-gates (Kirkwall) or Doon-the-gates (St Ola et al), try to move a ba’ (ball) from the Merkit Cross either down to the harbour or up past one of the churches.  It was announced Dec 1 that the Ba’ would happen this year.  It was promptly cancelled 11 days later. 
7. Snack foods – Tesco has come out with a series of interesting munchies: ‘Festive Crisps’ including sausage roll or, better still, turkey & stuffing flavoured puffs, and crisps flavoured like pigs in blankets or . . . . wait for it . . . . candy canes.  I’ve got proof.

I’ve started my annual Christmas movies. So far: Love Actually, Die Hard (obvs), The Last Holiday (as opposed to The Holiday – an absolutely dreadful movie IMO), and The Muppet Christmas Carol. Still to come: A Christmas Story, Elf, and White Christmas.

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon, perfect to sit down with a cup of tea, a blanket, and the best Christmas movie ever made: the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol. But, I can’t. I don’t have a copy of it. Back home I have two (yes, TWO) A Christmas Carol DVDs, one in colour & one in BW. And yes, I know, I’m old. I own DVDs. (Heck, I own vinyl albums too.) But, do you think it occurred to me, as I was packing my DVD collection away, do you think it occurred to me to pack one of the DVDs? It’s less than 1 cm thick – it would have taken up no space at all, dammit.

I looked on iTunes, these are the results when you search A Christmas Carol. Look at them. Dozens of them, imposters, all. The Muppet one is fine, and I’m sure Bill Murray in Scrooged did a lovely job. But the only true version was made in 1951, is in black & white, and has Alistair Sim as the perfect Scrooge. It is the Reid annual tradition; Dad used to say he always liked Scrooge better before the ghosts visited him. We could quote lines from the movie along with the actors. It is the best. Period.

I’m going to go and drown my sorrows in a gin and tonic. Bah. Humbug

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Edit: Just found it for rent on Amazon Prime UK. Whew. God bless us, everyone.

I buy the local newspaper every week and am quite enjoying it. It’s been around since 1854 (beating out the Milton Champion by six years). There are the obvious sections: local & regional News, COVID, Sports, and Entertainment; the last is referred to as Gaan Oot(‘going out’). There are the sections more typical of island, rural, and farming communities: bird watching, The Marine Scene, Young Farmers, and the Cattle & Sheep Market with every animal sold listed along with its price. The classifieds are extensive compared to at home and include small business notices, personal notices, births & deaths, and (and this is very cool) if you are not a business and have something to sell (under a certain price point – I think ) then you can post it here for free. Oh, and NO FLYERS!

But my favourite segment has to be this week’s Christmas wishes. There are three full pages of people wishing friends & neighbours a very Merry Christmas – there must be 200+ notices from individuals, couples, & families. What a lovely thing to do.