The Road to Rhiconich

On Saturday night, like I said

We had a great meal in the Boatshed

Too tired for a band 

The music got canned

By 8:30 we’re tucked up in bed.

For days I’ve been getting more manic

With a noise that’s now making me panic

So there’s nothing obscene

When Den’s Vaseline 

Is applied by our touring mechanic.

Den frets that his skin will get burned

A lesson he long ago learned 

He procures some sunblock

That it’s sold here’s a shock

But the weather has suddenly turned.

We’re up at five for the morning ferry

The outer isles are soon just a memory

We had a barrel of laughs 

And a few photographs

Of scenery so striking and solitary.

On the boat we keep looking for whales

A keen eye is all this entails 

But despite a long glance

We’d have just as much chance

Of seeing Scotland from Wales.

On the mainland, traffic volume is low

But the drivers are all giving it a go

They fly round the bends

To whatever ends

Surely missing the mountains on show

For the hills and the glens are unreal 

We’re so lucky to see them, I feel

In other conditions 

We’d have but one mission 

And that’s to keep turning the wheel.

It suddenly turns bitterly cold

An icy blast from the north takes hold

Across Unapool bridge

It’s a fan-based fridge

And once again I feel desperately old.

At Rhiconich we wait to be greeted  

Needing to be delicately treated 

We’ve got used to the warm

So a return to the norm

Makes us feel as if we’ve been cheated.

A challenging ride to be sure

From which rest is the only cure

But with all due respect

In the morn I expect 

Another tough day to endure.

Bettyhill