BELFAST 22/03/2024-25/03/2024

Another trip to the Emerald Isle, this time with the express purpose of visiting the Titanic Museum located in Belfast, a city I’d never been to. We looked at going direct from Liverpool via the ferry but it worked out easier and cheaper to get the Holyhead ferry to Dublin and then train up and back to Belfast. The Irish train system isn’t extensive as it covers just the major towns but it’s relatively cheap and very convenient.

After a windy night it dawned bright and clear in Wales. I was worried that the ferry was going to be cancelled on us. Again. However I got an unambiguous ‘all-clear’ text message this time at 5 so we were on.

The Parrys picked us up at 6 and we jetted off westward to Holyhead, Smooth journey, easy check in and found ourselves a perch and a coffee on the ferry with a clear view of the horizon to calm unsettled stomachs.

However there were no such worries for our neighbours who got through their second pint before we’d put any miles between us and the coast! Makes you proud to be British. Bless them and their constitutions, if we tried that we’d be asleep before lunch. 

The crossing was pretty smooth and sunny getting us into the city port of Dublin at 12:15

I’ve been coming to Dublin for twenty plus years, which is a blip in the history of this country but even in that time I’ve noticed an incredible rate of change. When I was first here in 2003 the area around the docks was smoky Tenement buildings and row after row of drab grey housing. Now the tired housing stock is gone and replaced by metal and glass structures raised to the sky in praise of the once great Celtic Tiger.

I wonder in another dozen years if the metal and steel will start to look as worn and tired as the old housing did. 

With a train North to catch we weren’t going to be staying in Dublin long so it’s a great excuse to find a pub to grab some food and a pint to “fortify” us for the journey. 

The top deck of the bus from the ferry to Connolly train station was full with a stag do from Mid-Wales. Needless to say they’d had a few on the ferry on the way over and were having a nice time in the manner of young lads let off the leash of expectations. They were nice guys and very friendly except the stag kept having to say “Shut up Dad!” to his Pa who was clearly excited to be a part of the lads group. He needn't have worried though as we had a lovely chat with them all.

However when the bus arrived at Connolly, we said our goodbyes and wished them the best of luck with what was going to be a long day for them. They made a beeline directly towards Clearys, the pub I’d eyed up on google maps and was yet to cross off my list. So deciding to leave them to their revelry we went in the other direction to a pub called the Brew Dock. Not so much because we wanted to avoid them but this wasn’t the time to get in rounds with a stag party and if we put our order for grub in behind them we’d be there forever.

Mystery Pub 1

The Brew Dock

Rated 4 out of 5 exhibitionist loos. 

Reason for coming - The Stag do didn’t.

Food - Decent Burgers and Chilli

Beer -  Excellent choice (it comes in flights!)

Guiness rating - 7.5

Will/Won’t you come back - Opposite Connolly Train station so quite probably find ourselves back here regularly

Banjo Factor - Zero

Facilities - 2 bogs in a large maze!

In summary - Well used interior, lots of punk stickers, nice environment.

Endless prose has been expended on the difference between the famous Stout in Ireland and in the UK. What I’d say is it is possible, but rare, to get a great pint of Guinness in the UK, but most of them will have an aftertaste like used washing up water. Whereas in Ireland you’ll get more great pints than not and then some of them will be so devastatingly good it will permanently shift your Overton window of what’s an acceptable pint of the black stuff. Basically what I’d say is that until you’ve had a good pint of stout in Ireland you shouldn’t categorically say you don’t like Guinness.

The pints in The Brew Dock were cold and creamy, a good Irish Guinness that if it would have been in the UK would have become a mecca for aficionados. 

Following a decent lunch and the mandatory pint or two, we grabbed a couple of coffees and headed for the train. After unsuccessfully fumbling for her ticket in her bag, the Guard at the barrier said to Em “just flash me” which made her consider why she had to have bought a ticket when she has the ladies as a permanent multipass. 

The train was clean but very busy. We had booked seats but they were in a line across the carriage and a lovely couple (John and Megan Collins) very kindly switched seats so we could sit in a four with a table 

The Dublin-Belfast train whipped through some stunning countryside and along the coast for a fair way. There was a bit of rain in the air but it was bright as well so some rainbows were in the offing. The bright sunshine of Dublin shone on the bays and towns of the south and as we headed north the sky’s greyed with shafts of occasional dramatic light. The atmosphere, environment (not to mention the couple of pre-train pints) inspired Mr P to create a short poem or Low-Ku as he calls it.

A RAINBOW IN DUNDALK.

Ladies Sleep, Rob Writes.

Random people chatter, the scenery rolls by

We move northwards to adventures anew. 

The train was crowded and we were a good distance from yet another Stag do at the other end of the train but this one seemed to be joined by a simultaneous Hen do that took turns singing. As we pulled into the Belfast station they started up on a surprisingly tuneful version of  “Sweet Caroline” much to Mrs P’s disgust. 

As a Caroline herself, I imagine that song had been sung at her at the most inappropriate moments and by inappropriate people. However, what the stag/hen might have lacked in nuance they made up for in enthusiasm drawing a round of applause from almost the whole carriage. 

Arriving in Lanyon Place Station we started walking with Caroline rolling her suitcase over the cobbles making such a racket we dubbed it the anti-ninja. 

It was only a mile and half walk out of the city proper to the hotel along the river Laggan to the hotel so we (I) thought we’d just walk it and take in the views on the way.

However I hadn’t contended with the fierce wind coming off the Irish sea pushing the icy drizzle into our faces. The area was really interesting as there's been a lot of investment in the area and the walk was pleasant but probably not worth risking hypothermia for. 

We were suitably chilled by the time we reached the hotel and were grateful for the warmth of the welcome and the building itself. The Titanic Hotel is housed in the old White Star offices and it’s a modern hotel with decent grub cloaked by the opulence of yester-year.

After the lunch and the trip up we decided to have dinner and a quiet night in the hotel. If it had been a Travelodge we probably would have headed out but the hotel is beautifully presented, not least of which the Bar where we found ourselves. It’s housed in the old drawing room two where all the draughtsmen used to spend hours designing every aspect of the Ships that were made just over the road. It’s a long room well lit by huge panels of glass to maximise the available Belfast light.

The museum was viewable through the far end, where the factory used to be and as the sun set we could see the bolts of light surrounding the building, more of which later. After our pretty substantial lunch we all had a relatively light supper and a couple of cocktails before heading to our rooms. 

The rooms themselves are done as some imperial opulent fever dream of a ship’s cabin, although about five or six times the size of anything on an actual ship. They’re complete with faux riveted walls, an expansive tiled bathroom and a bed so large it crossed several time zones. 

Needless to say we settled very comfortably and slept the sleep of the well traveled. 

23/03/2024 Day Two.

I woke early in the south continent of the bed, grabbed a shower and a coffee from the room careful to try and not wake Em and headed out.

The hotel has these ‘drawing’ rooms (not the draughtsman rooms) but elegant spaces where guests can sit and relax. The one next to our hotel room is the presentation room where designs would be laid out for clients. Lots of dark wood and leather chairs you can sink into. You can almost smell the cigar smoke and the centuries old business conversations echo off the elegantly papered walls.

Walking out, the rain and wind seemed to be continuing as I traced our route back into town proper. I walked over a footbridge, I scouted a few places we’d want to return to when we were all together and stopped off for an espresso in a Cafe Nero which is the best of the big chain coffee shops in my opinion. The sun was just starting to get it’s courage up to challenge the cold and drizzle when Caroline contacted me. They were both up but Mr P had headed out to the Belfast Park Run so I walked back to meet her in the Titanic quarter to meet her having just missed the bus. 

We walked up away from town past a massive lighthouse lamp and up to the HMS Caroline (God bless her and all who sail in her). It was moored just by the Titanic Distillery which has as far as we can tell no link to the Titanic apart from proximal distance to White Star offices and the licensing right to the name. I mean you can slap the name “Titanic” on anything and charge an extra £50 and people will buy it.

The sausage and Bacon bap we got from a little cafe attached to the Distillery had a much less extreme mark up and was exactly what the cold morning called for and after a fortifying repast we headed back to the museum to meet Em and Mr P who sadly hadn’t been able to fit the run into our timetable with it starting at 9:30 instead of the UK normal time of 9.

The Museum itself has a fascinating design. There is a prow facing each of the cardinal points like four ships sailing out on top of you. Very impressive and imposing.

We took the full guided talk and walk around the building and our hotel that used to be the white star offices. I’d had the incredibly smart idea of taking our coats back to the hotel so the lovely belfast weather kept up it’s side of the comedy bargain and blew a complete hooley. 

On the floor outside the building they’ve put a metal outline in the stonework to show the size of the ships when they were complete. It’s quite humbling to see the outline and try to imagine the scale of the thing. As we looked down on the outlines from the viewpoint in the museum Em noticed someone proposing on the outline of the deck.

How romantic. 

However we could see that he’d actually chosen the Olympic rather than the Titanic which either makes him ignorant or exceedingly practical to not tie your blossoming romance to an enterprise that famously sank with a large loss of life.

We headed out after a lovely tour with a lady with a great Belfast accent into the galleries and queued for some kind of weird rollercoaster that definitely coasted rather than rolled around showing you the riveters and the physical construction of the ship.

After all that history we were in need of some refreshment and caught the “Gilder” into town. Sadly this isn’t some sort of aerial transport system but the bastard offspring of a bus and a tram. It’s a Tram-with-Wheels or a Bus cosplaying as a tram without overhead cables or tracks to run on so essentially a bus with pretensions. This one was driven by a gentleman we nicknamed Shamus Schumacher who drove like he was fleeing the police in Grand Theft Auto and he dropped us in town in another in a series of rainstorms. 

As ever when we come over to Ireland I have a list of pubs that I want to try and we headed up the road from the stop to one of the top pubs on my list, Bittles. Now this pub is famous for a couple of things, the Guinness naturally, its intolerance for intolerance (always a plus) and how small it is. 

If you turn up just wanting a coke you’ll get turned away as they need a good flow of customers to keep raising the revenue. So at 2PM I thought there was a good chance of a seat for four Welsh people with a penchant for the black stuff. No such luck, the inside was rammed and with the rain continuing we couldn’t even stand outside as the covered area was also crowded. 

The very friendly doorman, probably well practised at this conversation with bright eyed Pilgrims hoping for a pint of the black stuff directed us to White’s which was also on my, to be honest, fairly extensive list. 

We walked down an alley and into one of the bars of the pub which was crowded with every table full. However we didn’t panic and trusted Caz’s super power was in full effect. Sure enough seconds after arriving we nabbed a table from people that were just leaving!

White’s is quite a large establishment broken into different areas, we were in the back section which is a sort of low country pub long dining room the original building from 1630. Lots of candle lit tables around a long room and a real fire. We had stopped just for a pint but with the delicious food smells crowding the room we decided that this was an excellent candidate for mystery pub 2.

Mystery Pub 2

White’s tavern

Rating - 4.5 out of 5 cosy country-style pubs

Reason for Coming - The rain and Bittels was full

Food - Epic, F**king Epic. Chicken, Champ, Sausages, some sort of Pie, Em finished first for once.

Beer - Good 

Guinness rating - 8

Why you will/won’t be coming back - Chicken was amazing a must stop if in Belfast, Should have brought our own headtorches as it was pretty dark in there. 

Fiddle Rating - 4 /5  dark and homely and Em said it smelt like her Nains house where she would batch cook chips in a cauldron

Facilities - 3 bogs, no maze

In Summary - Great Pub really busy but felt super friendly for a city center pub

Suitably refreshed from a magnificent example of an Irish pub we headed out into the soaking Belfast Streets. We passed Kelly’s Cellars (also heaving, also on the list) and headed to Maddens. As we walked into the doorway we were confused by the complete lack of door handle. There was a vestibule that was clearly the entryway, and there was the door in front of you but no way of actually opening it. It turned out that you had to ring the door bell and the barstaff would check the CCTV and then decide to let you in. This security measure felt like an antiquated holdover from the Troubles given at least half of the bar were tourists and it felt like the other half were musicians currently enjoying a Jam. Although it could be useful in a number of other places I’ve been to where the clientele could do with a through vetting. In both senses of the word Vetting.

We grabbed pints (cold, creamy, delicious) and perched next to the musicians who were banging out the lively trad music, some of which the crowd could join in on the chorus. We had great craic with a gentleman called Paddrick and his buddy who were retired teachers just out for a saturday pint that were unfortunate enough to be stuck on a table with us. We chatted for a good twenty minutes during which they were trying to convince us that as Welsh people we had to “Dump the English as soon as possible.”

The “band” finished up and the guy I was sitting next to “Callan” played some solo songs in their stead. Dirty old Town, Blowin in the wind, The Weight by The Band, Million Miles away by Rory Gallagher, amongst some others. I had a bit of a chat with him, a lovely guy and he had this real dirty throaty voice that really complemented the songs. He’d lost his Mum just before Christmas and we bonded over that, I know it’s been years for me but there’s a sadness there that doesn’t ever fade. 

Wishing Callan all the best and moving on through the still pouring rain I was leading the group towards the Crown Liquor saloon but turned early and ‘accidentally’ walked into the wrong pub which turned out to be the Robinsons/Fibber Macgees. A busy but perfectly fine place that Caz’s superpower again found us a table at exactly the right time. I can’t think about all the occasions we would have had to stand if she hadn’t have been with us. 

We sat in a corner with Titanic memorabilia including a truly authentic Lifejacket, if by Authentic you mean the James Cameron movie. Also a really freaky doll that felt like it was staring right at Mr P. 

It’s worth noting that whilst Mrs P is very knowledgeable about the real Titanic she refuses to watch the James Cameron movie due to what can be best described as not wanting a story to get in the way of the facts. As she says there are so many fascinating stories about that night that fabricating additional ones seems tawdry somehow. 

Anyhow on exiting the pub I realised my earlier pub mistake and we headed into the authentic Crown Liquor Saloon which is a Victorian style bar right opposite the Europa Hotel that was regularly and famously bombed during the troubles.

The interior is gorgeous like stepping into a Victorian high class establishment with tile on the floor and walls, lots of dark wood and these really cool booths on the right hand side which are like private snugs with room for 6-8 people.

The wood and brass made me think of some of the catholic churches I’d known growing up. Caz utilised her superpower again and we managed to snag a booth with a Son and Mother couple George and Lyn Jarvis who were on a trip over together.  We chatted with for a bit and they wrote in my notebook

“Lovely spending time with you all in the booth in the Crown Pub - Belfast”

We caught the Glider Tram-with-an-identity-crisis back to the hotel and finished the evening with some nibbles and cocktails in the Hotel bar. 

24/03/2024 Day Three

Belfast to Dublin

Had a bit of a lie-in following our long day/night out. We met the Parrys at reception with the sunlight streaking through the windows which was a real change from the recent weather, and headed out. 

Quick glider Bus/Train/Tram/whatever to the city proper and we took a walk through St George’s Market next to the station which had loads of good looking food & stalls selling everything from old tat to new tat. It did seem like on of those places where you could walk in for a croissant and walk out with a Pink Porcelain lamp and a fruit bowl made out of an old vinyl record.  

We had no problems catching the Train south back to Dublin, in our limited experience the Irish Trains were nice & really efficient. Got to Connolly station and caught the LUAS (an actual real tram) from Bruasas to Spencer Dock where the our Hotel was located.

Em and I dropped the bags to find that our room hadn’t actually  been cleaned from the previous tenants! 

We left the apologetic staff to it and headed to Temple Bar purely for the atmosphere via Bad Bobs for our mandatory photograph to then hit up the Porterhouse.

They had an Oyster Stout that Rob had sampled last time we were in Dublin that he could still taste to this day so it would be rude not to try it, even if it’s recommended to use a knife and fork. 

Their beer menu was rather excellent and extensive and I must say having a wide platte I’m often stuck when the selection is so good. My gut instinct is “I want a lager” in most cases but the interesting porters/milds/stouts/IPAs should all get a look in so I often just plump for something in a panic and regret my choices. 

When it comes to the end, I will regret the pints I didn’t have. 

From there we walked through town and the teeming streets of Temple Bar, the cathedral to the notion of “Irishness” that has absolutely nothing to do with it. 

Even at 2 PM on a Sunday people are searching for that authentically inauthentic Irish experience and we couldn’t find anyplace that we liked (Too Busy, Too Touristy, etc etc) so after a bit of a wander we got lunch at Bruxelles which is a place that we’ve eaten at a few times in town. It is ostensibly a Belgian Pub but didn’t appear to be serving Belgian beer or Belgian food. In fact it’s a standard Irish pub in the cloak of a Belgian pub much like a lot of “Irish” pubs I’ve been to everywhere else. They have a large collection of flags from all around the world on the ceiling which is always a good sign of multiculturalism. 

Mystery Pub 3 

Bruxelles

Rating - 3.5/5 Belgian Theme bars 

Reason for Coming - Geographic distance from Temple Bar and closeness to McDaids

Food - Excellent Cottage pie and other non-belgian food.

Beer - Good Murphys, no Belgian beer ( or Cough Syrup as some call it.)

Guinness Rating - 7

Why you will wont be coming back - Opposite the superior McDaids

Fiddle Rating - 0, Belgian Theme bar in Dublin

Facilities - old, vaulted ceilings very low

In Conclusion - Like the flags and the arts and crafts

From there it was a short walk to what is one of my top ten all time pubs, Bowes lounge Bar on Fleet street. It’s a fairly small place but the Guinness and atmosphere is always second to none. 

I’d bite an arm off to be there now with a pint in my remaining hand.

After a couple creamy pints we headed back to the hotel which now it had been turned over seemed very clean and very comfy. 

Em stayed behind as we headed out again over the bridge to the Ferryman which wasn’t too busy being a Sunday night. We got the snug and had a nice pint before the barman recommended we head up the road for some food in the Dockers where we had a final pint with pizza for a relatively calm night before the early morning ferry.

ORKNEY SEPT 2023

 23/09/2023

When it comes to the best time to visit the remote Islands of Orkney off the north coast of Scotland, most people would probably pick summer with the long days and possibility of sunshine. They wouldn’t automatically think of late September edging into October, given Orkney’s propensity for wind and every conceivable form of rain.

However conventional thinking is not really the raison d'etre of the Taylor/Parry collective, so away we went from Denbigh in the early afternoon with a song in our hearts and a tank full of petrol. The roads out from Wales onto the M6 and up are straightforward when not clogged with traffic and painless to drive. 

Of course it’s very easy for me to say that from the backseat, being expertly chauffeured north by Mr P but the miles passed swiftly accompanied by Mrs P’s choice of music. She appeared to have consciously or unconsciously selected a playlist exclusively populated with Murder Ballads. The songs can be split into four distinct categories 

“Woman who’s been done wrong by her man”,
“Woman can’t leave her man”,
“Woman sharpens her best cleaver” and
“Yes Officer, I do have an alibi for when my husband was dismembered and the remains scattered in the lake. No fingerprints you say? How odd”. 

The miles passed quickly in good company and we were soon over the border, pulling off the main road towards our stop for the night, The Farmer’s Inn in Clarenfield, Dumfries. 

It’s located between the two big tourist draws of the area; the Savings Bank Museum and the Devils Porridge museum, (and they say Scottish attractions can’t compete with Disney World). It’s worth noting that the Devil’s Porridge refers to the creation of an explosive used in munitions during the War rather than a dangerous and possibly sacrilegious breakfast.

The Farmer’s Inn itself is part of a row of stone built buildings clearly quite old but well kept and with the bright whitewash typical of many structures in this area. The Rooms were more modern, in a motel style behind the pub proper. 

The bar was a long single room but warm and welcoming with a real fire which is welcome even in the relative warmth of September. We had to do a double take when the landlord that greeted us warmly at the bar was the spitting image of the landlord of our local pub back home. 

Deciding requesting a DNA test would be a touch forward we took our seat in the small bar that we rated 8/10 on the Bagpipe rating with empty bottles of gin and whisky on the surrounding shelves. It was pleasantly quiet with a few locals in and a couple of german bikers who we chatted briefly too. The food was good with all of us ordering Haggis in one form or another which was a fair indicator of our dietary choices for the week to follow. 

The bar itself had an unusual brass tap on top of it which we were informed was for adding a drop of water to one’s whisky. It was sadly defunct now although we were drinking the German style lager brewed just up the road, which was highly pleasant but definitely did not need any watering down.

We did confer on its authenticity with the two german bikers at the next table but they were on pints of heavy that they were unable to get back in Germany.

A pleasant meal and and quiet pint in a nice bar was most welcome and as Mrs T famously that night, “I like a pub that leaves you the fuck alone.” 

And with that we headed to bed.

24/09/2022

I woke early as I tend to on these holidays and being part man/part labrador I decided to take myself for a walk. The Lowlands of Scotland are well named even without considering its mountainous northerly counterpart. The sky (grey this morning) seems to stretch on forever but it was a sharp, rain-free early morning so knowing we’d be in the car for most of the day I appreciated the fresh air.

A fairly standard hearty Scottish breakfast ensued with Guten Morgan’s exchanged with our Teutonic neighbours before we piled back in the car and Mr P pointed it north. The route took us on the motorway up to Glasgow and then the A9 past the Cairngorms and Aviemore, (site of prior adventures) and then on to tonight’s destination of Inverness. 

The AirBnb was a flat on the top floor of a colonial style house with views over the valley of Inverness. The stairway to the top floor wound through the middle of the building with the steps seriously worn in the middle by a great number of decades of use. The Stairway led to a scenic veranda that had great views of the city.

Carefully heading down the worn concrete steps we sauntered into town proper through a series of steep stairways descending into the heart of the city. 

Inverness is not a big city but it has a friendliness that’s common in the Highlands, it’s not especially touristy but it acknowledges that tourists are an essential part of its makeup. We wandered the street to get a lay of the land and headed into a place referred to as a temple to the written word, Leakey's bookshop. Located in an old chapel every nook and cranny of the old building is stuffed with “preloved” books on every topic one could imagine. The centre is a massive industrial looking fire which keeps the booksellers, book-lovers and books themselves toasty throughout the deep Scottish winter. The smell of warm fire and gently aged books is a delight to the senses, (well to mine at least) and I could happily spend days browsing their innumerable shelves with no particular requirement apart from the pleasure of old books.

The travel and the books had raised a powerful thirst within us and we headed to a place called MacGregors that had a massive sign outside proclaiming it to be the “Best Bar in Highlands”.  It’s a bold claim for a place selling Carlsberg, and whilst perfectly pleasant I failed to see anything that made it stand apart from some very similar hostelries we’d frequented in the past. A central open modern bar was offset with a real fire and reclaimed wooden tables and chairs. 

However we only stayed for one as we wanted to visit the Black Isle Brewery Bar in Inverness. We had visited the actual brewery many years ago as it’s one of Mrs P’s favourites and I think ranks highly with the rest of us. 

As we approached, our hearts sank. Part of the bar’s charm is you can’t book tables but you’re rolling the dice as it is understandably popular. We elbowed our way in against the throng, more in hope than expectation and as if it were pre-ordained, a big group got up to leave just as we approached the crowded table like the Red Sea parting before Moses. I certainly hope it wasn’t a comment on my personal hygiene. 

Table secured, we ordered some of the best beer and most fabulous pizzas I think I’ve ever had. There was one with Venison Salami and another with hot honey which matched the innovative and delicious beers perfectly. I’m sure the Inverness Town Council are, even as we speak, stripping that egregiously inaccurate sign from Macgregors and awarding it to the Black Isle Bar.

There was certainly a hipster element in there (plaid shirts, tiny hats, Denim that had never seen a days work) but with it also being the highlands there was plenty of technical Fleece, waterproofs and walking boots. It’s a good mix and everyone rubbed along amicably the atmosphere being a happy and energetic one.

A cocktail being the perfect aperitif to beer and pizza we left the actual best bar in the Highlands and headed down to the river to a bar called Johnny Foxes which served achingly average cocktails in a much less salubrious environment.

Not feeling the need to dally there, we took a pleasant walk along the river bank in the falling light and the ladies decided to head home.

Mr P and I headed to The Castle, A decent pub a little further along the bank where we watched an Ireland football game and met a couple of guys,  one of whom was Canadian and trapped in the country due to COVID still being a factor in foreign travel. 

After a round of whiskys we bid our new friends a good night and headed back to the AirBnb being very careful on the worn ancient steps of the city where I’m sure many a similarly refreshed traveller has come a cropper. . 

25/09/2022

It was an early start from our eyrie on top of the hill overlooking Inverness, eager to be on our way we grabbed a breakfast from the BP garage and we were soon heading north, further North than Em and I had ever been before. Having traversed into the Highlands yesterday the scenery became more and more bleak and unlived the further north we travelled as if leaving civilization further and further behind with each passing mile.  The Road is still the A9 and it travels within spitting distances of cliffs plunging into the North Sea with low dotted houses hugging the land as if trying not to be blown off.

We travelled past one farm with a chicken coop facing a cliffside plunge if one of the chickens stumbled or was caught by a gust of wind never to be seen again. We instantly started work on a musical “The Ballard of Ethel” for one such poor poultry caught by the winds and transported away from her chicken family and friends. The actual story is lost to the sands of time but her cry remains solid in our minds

 “Remember me!” in a vaguely scots accent.

It was around here that Mr P got very excited by the prospect of bumping into (figuratively not literally with the car mind) a Cyclist called Mark Beaumont. He was attempting an insane cycling challenge called the north coast 500 which is a 516 mile route around the far north coast of scotland. A challenge to drive, let alone propel yourself along on a bike in one go! As we came down one hill travelling up the other side was a windswept and bedraggled gentleman with a full support crew climbing the hill at what must have been an impressive pace. He looked knackered when we saw him on his way to beating the record for the run by doing it in 28 hours and 35 insane minutes. And incredible feat, not to mention I think that might actually be my total lifetime number of hours on a bike.

Eventually after much more wildness of the far north we arrived on the north coast of Scotland and headed east to John O’Groats. Many many years ago Mrs T and I had travelled in Cornwall and visited Land’s End which we found to be pretty but touristy. John O’Groats is just simply pretty touristy. I do it a disservice of course but the difference between a tourist attraction on the Sun drenched south coast of Cornwall and the windswept furthest northern reaches of mainland Scotland is a cliche for a reason.

Both spots however do a good line in tourist tat based around the signposts so after a trawl through the shops ( John O’Groats mugs,  John O’Groats signs,  John O’Groats fudge etc etc) we stopped for a bite of lunch before heading over to the ferry at Gills Bay. We ordered the Cullen Skink from the cafe overlooking the John O’Groats bay and it was by some measure the best Cullen Skink I had ever had. The fact I think it was the only Cullen Skink I had ever had at that point is by the by. It was a delicious Fish and Potato soup perfectly seasoned and just Cullen-y and  Skink-y enough so as not to smell out the entire dining area. 

After a really solid lunch we headed to the small ferry at Gills bay a few miles up the road. A Short queue led us into the bowels of the ship where we walked up some stairs and managed to get a seat on a quiet small-ish ferry for a relatively short and quiet journey over what I am told are some very rough seas. More on that later… 

As we departed at a tiny port called St Margarets Hope, as if on queue, the rain started. Perhaps the Hope of the aforementioned St Margaret was to stay dry for five minutes. It’s at the bottom of the island chain leading to Kirkwall and then Stromness where we were staying but it was a good chance to see the islands and the linkage between them called the Churchill barriers. 

These causeways were created between four of the islands to stop U-Boats sneaking into the calm natural harbour in the middle of the Orkney islands and causing havoc. A lot of the work on these was done by Italian prisoners of war interned on the islands. I have no idea what they must of thought of being trapped thousands of miles from home in what can only be described as a “different” climate to what they may have been used to in Naples or Sicily. This homesickness spurred them to create a real work of beauty in an Italian Chapel created entirely within a Nissen Hut.

This structure on a small island called Lambholm is incredibly moving considering the conditions at the time creating the altar and stations of the cross from scrap wood and paint. 

After spending a while there and the rain continuing we headed along the winding roads skirting the larger town of Kirkwall to our final destination Stromness. The landscape is so dramatic wherever you look and the history is laid down like Mulch on the ground to raise up the new stories and lives. The house where we stayed  was on the harbour front so we could see the ferry terminal that we were going to be travelling back on. The house itself was very comfortable with a large lounge and bedrooms upstairs and a kitchen and garage on the lower floor. 

We settled in and then headed to the Ferry Pub for dinner, which the Parrys declared a significant improvement on 2009. The food was decent and they were serving the local beers from the Swanage and Orkney Breweries ( about which more later) which were all delicious and well deserved after a long day of travel. 

We were sat next to a couple of climbers that had just scaled the Old Man of Hoy. A lifetime (and several Kilograms) ago I was into rock climbing and the first scaling of the Old Man was a real news event, one of the first to be recorded live back in the sixties and the documentary was fascinating. Anyway they were two really nice guys that were stuck on the island as the ferries out had been cancelled due to the poor weather. They had been accompanied by their long suffering partners who no doubt had sensibly found a cocktail bar to hole up in while their blokes embarked on some foolish outdoors endeavour. 

Or am I putting too much of myself and Mr P in that?

The pub was close to the house and closer to the ferry terminal, one would have to be careful not to drink too much, trip over the step and accidentally board the boat to find yourself back in scotland proper.

We took a walk out after dinner, the streets of Stromness being narrow and clustered together to shelter against the weather which soon hit us with full force.

The rain decided that now it had warmed itself up with a few gradual showers throughout the day it could put a proper effort in bucketing down as we navigated the slate grey streets in the rising gloom. Given that our ‘walk’ had turned into more of a ‘swim’  we gave it up as a bad job and stopped off  in the other pub in town, the Royal Bar which was a pretty plain local bar attached to the hotel. Panelled walls, tired nautical theme, okay beers but a roaring fire which was most welcome in our semi-aquatic state. It wasn’t as warm a welcome as the Ferry but perfectly adequate for our needs, namely, beers and being out of the rain!

After drying our outsides and quenching our insides we headed back to the house.

26/09/2022

I think at this point me saying “Another windy rainy day” is sort of redundant, imagine then that unless otherwise mentioned it’s always raining with heavy gusts, or as the locals call it “T Shirt weather”. 

However this day the winds were a little stronger ( “Light shirt weather”) although Stromness is on a natural sheltered harbour which keeps the worst of the weather outside the bay, the weather outside of this little Orkney bubble were getting quite harsh and so there were no Ferries running today. The Climbers we met last night plus girlfriends would have to stay for at least another twelve hours.

As well as the ferry back to Scotland there are a number of smaller ferries serving the small islands that are inaccessible by Road. These tiny boats would just get tossed around in heavy seas and so many times the service is suspended. When you come to such a remote part of the UK you realise how much you take for granted, like supermarkets always being stocked with fresh produce. I think in Orkney there’s always a mentality of self reliance as much as possible as you can’t always rely on the Ferry from the Mainland.

A note on “mainland” in Orkney they use the term mainland to refer to the largest clustered isles that we’re on. Scotland is referred to as Scotland almost like a separate country which in many ways it was for years. 

Walked out to the bakery to gather pastry treats which being made on the islands weren’t reliant on coming over on the ferry. We had spotted a poster for a band called FARA last night and noticed that the gig was tonight in town. From a quick spotify search they appeared to play traditional Scottish music and had just released an album called Energy Island. Feeling serendipitous we picked up the tickets for later on that evening. 

Over coffee and pastries we considered our options for the rest of the day given the lack of ferries. Deciding to leave the car at the house we took the first bus to Kirkwall which is the largest habitation in the isles. It was about half an hour through the remote landscape with clusters of houses on occasion dotted amongst the green.

Kirkwall is by Orkney standards a large town having a number of shopping streets and the rather magnificent Red stone St Magnus Cathedral. I lit a candle for Mum, Gran and the Great Aunts, and I could imagine their conversation in their usual Taylor-stage whisper voices about Vikings, Scots and the rather awe inspiring Cathedral. 

“Well, it’s impressive but  it’s not what I’d call traditional.” 

“Not traditional? It’s from the 12th Century!”

“Well you know what I think about Modern Architecture.”

I left the imagined whispered discussion about which century the Papal Palace was built and we grabbed a hot chocolate in the cafe to warm us up.

With the storm worsening  (“Maybe take a coat dearie”) we decided it was high time for a beer.

The first we came across was a bar in the Kirkwall Hotel called Skippers that sits on the dockside. It had an aggressively cheery nautical theme full of sandy beach pictures and light yachts being captained by sunbaked smiling models in a comically tragic contrast to the haggard incumbents of the bar sipping their cans of Tennants whilst studiously ignoring the weather continuing outside. 

I was examining the beer taps (Nothing special) when a young lad appeared like the shopkeeper from Mr Ben behind the bar as if he’d just teleported there! Turns out the cellar was directly below the bar so a series of steep steps brought him from the underworld right in front of my nose. He was by far the cheeriest person in the place so we ordered some pretty decent burgers and beers which prove that you should take any old port in a storm. Some of the ports might  have nice haggis burgers. 

We made the bus back to Stromness in time to head out into the night to watch FARA at the townhall. They play mostly traditional Fiddle and piano music and three of them are from the Orkneys and it may just be the hearing music there but the energy infused into the performance felt like a home-coming gig. 

It’s a familiar and comforting yet still exciting sound in the middle of a hall that felt like a church except that it was well attended. We sat on the back row behind the mixing desk which gave us quite a view of the show . I remember them all being funny and warm and really enjoying the experience. From there we headed back to the Ferry for a Pint and a whisky. 

We’d gone to the Highland Park shop in Kirkwall before being a whisky I’m quite fond of. I decided to try the 18 year old at the pub (no sniggering please) given that it was £80 for a bottle I figured a dram of the stuff was a good investment in case it didn’t live up to the hype. I shouldn’t have worried. It was absolutely delicious, warming with a hint of smoke and a deep sweet richness I wasn’t used to. Fabulous way to round off a full day.

27/09/2022

The seas had clearly improved to the point that when we woke up they were loading the Ferry to Scotland with all the traffic and people that were not only going today but had not been able to go yesterday. It still looked pretty swelly though so we wished them well as we walked on the solid ground into town in search of breakfast.

There’s a very small hamlet on the Islands that’s barely a cluster of four or so houses that would normally pass beneath notice but is remarkable for bearing the unfortunate name Twatt. As you can imagine they have all manner of tourist tat with this hilarious slogan on the one could legitimately purchase purely as a memento of the trip. We bought four fridge magnets. Purely to remember the trip you understand. 

We grabbed a pretty decent coffee in a cafe on the sea-front although technically out of season you could tell things were still winding down after the height of the summer tourist season.

We took the car out and arrived at the Maes Howe visitors centre just as the bus was about to leave for the guided tour. It’s such an important part of History and so rare you can’t just wander around willy nilly. We glommed on to the group and got the full tour of this incredible structure. 

Maes Howe is a burial mound that rises like a lump in the landscape with a lawn of grass over it, like a badly hidden ball under a carpet.

You duck down a tunnel and emerge in a large cairn with different chambers and the feeling of the weight of ages on you. It’s incredible and then the guide turns on a light that shows the runic viking script of Raiders from thousand years ago that clearly took shelter here from the weather. 

We often venerate our ancestors and attribute honourable intentions to them with little or no evidence. Let’s just say the magic of the mysterious runic symbols carved nearly a thousand years ago is ruined somewhat when you find the meanings are pretty much “Loki was here” and “Ingrid is fit”. Although the guys that carved “This is high up” about ten foot up the wall was clearly the Viking Michale MacIntyre.

From there we took a drive to the Houton Ferry and grabbed a sandwich in Kirkwall before heading on to the Scapa distillery where we needed virtually no pressure to buy a couple of good bottles or expressions only available at the distillery. However having tasted a few of them I do wonder if the ones only available at the distillery is because you’d have a bugger of a time selling them anywhere else. 

We had dinner at our usual table in the Ferry back in Stromness before heading out to an event called Peatfire Tales of Orkney.

We were expecting some sort of specialised performance space maybe upstairs at a pub or something but it turned out this lady doing the tales basically converted the lower half of her house into a performance space to tell tales the way they used to be told. I suppose there is a link to the past there, families and clans sitting around a fire telling tall tales instead of being on their phones.

The room was warm and painted in reds and yellow to emulate a big fire and full of old items from the islands and fisherman that would have used them and sat around fires like this mending nets.

The fire definitely had that acrid stinging peat smell that I expect from cheap fires and expensive whisky.

The lady started her tale of Vikings and the Fin-men who lived in a palace under the sea and the Selkies that would take off their furs to pass amongst men and a clever man who tricked a Selkie into marrying him by hiding her fur so she couldn’t return to her people. 

Whilst I was wondering if the Vikings had a phrase for Domestic Abuse the narrator started getting animated and chucked a Wellington boot at Mr P’s head. 

Now, I have to say Mr P had done absolutely nothing to deserve being a target for a inter-continental ballistic Welly and it turned out this was a tactic to keep people involved in the story that storytellers used to use. She would also repeat certain phrases over and over “and the Sun rose and the Sun set” whilst performing a certain rotating action with her hands. I would find out later that this repetition was deliberate and didn't come from a paucity of imagination but instead was the equivalent of a chorus in a song providing structure to the tale. 

She gave a talk after the tale and she said that she’d come to the islands when she was younger and stayed and part of her role was to talk to old Orcadians and try and record some of the oral history that they heard when they were growing up. Stories that possibly had never been written down but handed down from generation purely through their oral telling.

I found it fascinating but I also understand how people might have come away from it thinking  “What on earth was that wellie chucking madwoman on about?”

28/09/2022

I thought I must have still been dreaming when I woke to bright sunshine. After the dismal downpours of the last few days this was just so welcome and unexpected. I mean, I knew it wasn’t likely to last but it made a nice contrast, and the islands looked very different with the sunlight beaming down instead of biblical torrents of water.

So after breakfast we headed out for a day of some of the groups favourite interests, archeology and brewing. First on the agenda was the Brock of Gurness which was a cluster of Pictish houses nestled on the coast with a round tower structure that collapsed countless years ago. A lot of the stones are still piled as they would have been giving you the outline of the village as it would have been. At least according to the Archaeologists and Historians that seem to make huge leaps of imagination on relatively little evidence. 

“Here would be where they would clean the lobsters.”

“Here is where they would sing songs together.”

“Here is where they would use the loo.” 

Actually, they’ve probably got some evidence on that last one, evidence I have no wish to investigate further. 

From there we went onto the Ring of Brogar which is a Henge of flat old stones in a circular shape that was used for some mysterious ceremonies. Thirty six of the original sixty survive to today and have been held in place by modern fixings braced like a mouth of old broken teeth instead of the Hollywood smile of yesteryear. We completed a lap of the stones feeling the history beneath our feet as we looked out to the sea. Another stone age settlement next to the coast, but I suppose you’d have to work pretty hard on these islands not to be at least near to the sea. 

We drove on to Skara Brae where an entire stone age village was lost to time until a particularly heavy storm uncovered them in 1850. The preservation was amazing considering how old they are, like a peaty Pompi of the western isles. The Houses were clustered together but it was very different to The Brock of Gurness which felt more like a fort, this felt like a village like a place you could imagine families being. It was incredible to be there walking on the same soil as people thousands of years ago. 

I suppose the remoteness of the Orkneys has meant that a lot of this type of history has been preserved where in a more populous area it would have been destroyed and built over a hundred times. How many archaeological treasures have been lost over the years to unscrupulous builders? 

With the archaeology portion of the day well and truly resolved it was time for the beer. 

There are two breweries on Orkney and I’m happy to say we completed 100% of them. First up the smaller of the two, the Swannay brewery which had a nice little shop but wasn’t really set up as a tourist destination. We purchased a few bits and headed onto the larger, imaginatively titled Orkney Brewery. 

Now I remember Mrs P sharing her love of their beers, particularly the Northern Light, many many years ago so it was kind of fitting to end up there. They’ve converted an old school into a brewery and tourist centre with brewery tours and a really nice restaurant. Over the years I think between the four of us we’ve done many many brewery tours we could probably be employed as guides so we skipped straight to the Beers and Burgers portion of the trip.

In the main school hall they had a restaurant with a roaring fire and these school desk style things as tables which I can’t imagine are too authentic as they fitted my oversize frame rather than a scrawny school age child but it was kind of a fun touch.

The Haggis burgers and various ales from their selection went down a treat and after spending more in their shop we left the car at the brewery and headed back to Stromness via taxi. 

The guys headed home and I walked up Brinkie Brae which is the mountain (hill) that overlooks the Stromness bay and was such an inspiration to the Poet George Mackay Brown that lived in the town. The view is majestic especially on a day like this and inspired Hamnavoe (the Viking name for Stromness) his most famous poem.

29/09/2022

The only problem with leaving a car at the brewery was that it had to be collected in a world where public transport isn’t the most extensive. Mr P got up early to catch a bus that literally dropped him in the middle of nowhere. The bus pulled off and there wasn’t a person or house in sight as he started walking towards what the maps told him would lead to where we left the car. 

Must have been an eerie sight just walking in the middle of this landscape with no fixed point of reference for the end of the journey. However he found and returned the car. From there we split the party with Mr P heading off for a biking trip via small ferry out to Hoy and the rest of us deciding on a quiet day mooching around Kirkwall again. 

The Bus drivers ticket machine didn’t work and in a manner familiar to small communities he didn’t really care and let us ride for free. 

It was a calm quiet day, totally different to the Squall we’d experienced earlier in the week. We felt more comfortable exploring little alleyways and odd roads given we weren’t being blasted with wind and rain.  I went back to the Ardbeg shop to find they had sold out of the delicious 18 that I’d tried a dram of in the pub previously. I decided I wasn’t going to risk an even more serious amount of money on an older (even more expensive) bottle that I hadn’t tried so came away empty handed. 

We’d heard about a Gin specialist that did tastings and had a good food menu in town but it was completely shut up, either for the winter or permanently we couldn’t decide. Either way we couldn’t drink/ eat there so we decided to have a bit of lunch at a place I’d seen online called Helgis which was ostensibly a Viking themed bar. 

We got there and instead of the flagons of ale, massive roast meat  and bearded fierce looking men and women (the fierceness not the beards) we found a decent little bar. Actually there were flagons of ale ( Tennants and Northern Light) roast meats (Burgers and fish soup) but instead of the fierce vikings we found apathetic teenage staff who could barely look up from their phones to take an order. 

In their defence it was pretty quiet and every preceding generation is inherently boring or embarrassing to the next (or cringe in today's youth speak). We’re even more embarrassing when we’re explaining youth slang and getting it wrong. Thank god I don’t have kids as I would go out of my way to embarrass them in front of their mates. 

Anyhow the food and place were fine, and some brass toilets made a strange contrast but we finished our repast and headed back to meet Mr P back at the house and finished the day with a meal in the Ferry and a short walk as the wind and rain returned. 

30/09/2022 

We were due to take the 6:30 AM Ferry to return home that night but our constant companion, the weather, clearly didn’t wish to see us go so soon. The sideways winds and rain meant that we had to go on Standby for the PM ferry. If we missed that we’d have to stay another night on the islands.

We got in the queue and secured a standby place and then sat in the house and prayed to the weather god to let us leave. I can imagine why Orkney was such a spiritual place when the weather is so fickle you must imagine that it’s the gods messing with you. 

At the appointed time we sat in the car and they started letting on the people and vehicles until we were the last car sat on the dock facing the by now very full ferry. Luckily there was just enough room for our car but very little remaining space that would barely have accepted even the most discerning credit card. 

However, considering the Deck was full the passenger compartment wasn’t too busy, but the Rough seas did make for some uncomfortable moments. We came back on the Stromness to Scrabster Ferry which was a bit quicker I think but spectacular. We passed the old man of Hoy that Mr P had visited and the climbers had submitted which was an incredible achievement. The deep reds and browns of the rock against the sea was amazing to see, even if because of the waves the view was a little more ‘dynamic’ that I would have preferred.

We crossed back onto the mainland (I’m off Orkney now so I can call it the mainland). Due to the delay the Original hotel we booked was out of reach tonight so whilst travelling we booked into the most conveniently located one we could find which was the Highlander in Newtonmore.

As we arrived I had a real Proustian rush of hotels in the nineties.  I don’t know if they used the same carpet cleaner or something but it smelt and felt like when I worked at the Talardy Hotel in St Asaph in that period. 

This wasn’t helped by the clean but tired rooms featuring a radio built into the wall and the bar that stocked the mixers in ambient temperature on a wooden shelf. However it was clean and we were knackered having waited to travel and travelling all day. 

We decided on a final holiday drink in the bar, walking in the four of us together chatting clearly in a group, but obviously not clearly enough for the young lady behind the bar. We ordered one drink and she asked if there was anything else. So we ordered the second drink and she asked if there was anything else… I looked at the four of us all crowding the mostly empty bar and ordered two drinks together to save her expending any more effort. 

We sat at a plain chipboard table with conference chairs and toasted to a truly memorable holiday experience.