Wish you were here.. just leave pool table at home
HOW depressing reading the stories on “dirty camping” in Scotland, only to discover this was not bawdy Carry On capers but clatty git vandalism.
Locals from Glen Etive, in Glencoe, a site so beautiful it was used in a Bond movie, posted a picture of abandoned mattresses and tents and bags bursting with rubbish, left behind by “campers”.
The campers should have saved themselves the trip and lobbed themselves into the nearest skip.
This weekend, hundreds of campers descended on Perthshire, with some setting up marquee tents and one group even brought their own pool table.
“Honey, did you pack the weans’ wellies, the midgie spray and the pool table?”
Yep, what we hanker for at a serene lochside is a game of pool, to conjure up that pre-lockdown memory of sticky-carpeted pubs and rank urinals.
This lockdown for some people has been one long episode of Shameless, only the Gallaghers couldn’t afford their own marquee.
I spent last week on a staycation for my birthday, eight miles south of Campbeltown, in a wee cottage on the beach at Dunaverty Bay.
Thankfully, the lesser spotted louts were nowhere to be seen in this idyll, although I managed to lower the tone.
A few birthday vinos and I made scrambling over some wee rocks look as challenging as scaling the Andes.
I also laughed incessantly at a breed of seabird called a shag.
During the early medieval period, Dunaverty was the location where St Columba first set foot in Scotland, after being chucked out of Ireland.
The missionary evangelist went on to spread Christianity across our small nation, which turned out splendidly as Scotland has never had a problem with religion.
But religious zeal aside, Columba certainly found one of the most beautiful places in the planet to pitch up.
There are few countries in the world but Scotland where the only other life sharing a beach is a few stray cows and oyster catchers.
I was worried the locals would be concerned about tourists but rarely have I felt so welcome anywhere.
I popped in for a paper and some eggs to Muneroy Stores in the nearest village of Southend and mentioned to the owner Frances Hill that I was there to celebrate my birthday.
As I left, she ran out after me, clutching a box of her awardwinning cake covered in cream, a thoughtful gift from a woman whose name I had to google and who had chatted to me for all of two minutes.
The slump in tourism, our biggest industry, has put thousands of jobs at risk and some businesses may never be able to open their doors again.
There is the opportunity to support the Scottish tourist industry by having a staycation instead of travelling abroad and that is certainly no chore. I, for one, didn’t miss the stress of the airport, the drudgery of security and paying a tenner for a limp sandwich, before being crushed on a flight.
Scotland is majestic and empty and there are many like Frances to make us feel welcome.
So what if the sun doesn’t always shine?
Just chuck on the waterproofs and a hat, which in my case made me look like Noddy.
There is no one to see you and if they did, they don’t care.
Lap up the peace of a dodgy phone signal and let the anxieties which have gripped us for months float out to sea.
Just leave the pool table and the marquee at home.