Scotland 2025 Day 4 - Nutmegged

It’s been a revelation. A rediscovery of sorts. I recently bought some fresh nutmeg from Tesco’s cosmetics counter. You know, them nut like things that look not too dissimilar to mummified testicles. No not the customer service staff! Nutmegs!

I’m currently scratching my nuts with something hard more times than Brad the Lad ever might have his hands down the front of his pants. So that’s a lot! I’d forgotten I had a nut in my hand which accidentally scared ma boys to death! I’m sprinkling the fresh gratings on everything and - what a surprise! You can use it so much more than on custard pies and rice puddings you know. Yes. Yes.

My latest favourite is a few scrapings on Weetabix with a dash of runny hunny and lashings of ice cold milk. Lurvley 😋. I now wander my house with my nuts in my hand sharing their ejaculations on everything I come across. No. No! Not that you dirty minder person you. Like a crap goalie for sure I have been nutmegged.

Yesterday was the first proper day of cycling. Not that far really whilst we waited for the planned boat crossing. But for sure we know that we are back in the mountains. There’s no long flat introduction to cycling in this part of the world. No. And it’s remote with few places to stay. For sure It’s a place littered with rancid tour cyclists wrapped in several layers of Gortex and lycra of various types and flavours from all around the world.

We pulled up outside the Nevis indoor centre. A place full of pits, rope hanging assault courses and climbing walls just in case some of the local weirdos out there thought there just wasn’t enough of it on the outside.

There we find a small pack of bedraggled teenage rats I think from Poland who had properly nutmegged themselves in that they had arrived in Fort William without booking ahead 6 months in advance like wot I did desperately seeking somewhere warm and dry for the night.

Not-a-fecking-chance is what they say in this part of the world on a bank holiday as I was later to find out after the fecking 6 month old communication error between booking.com and the hotel reared its ugly twin snake like heads and bit me on my arse.

The Polish boys had gently encouraged their sweet looking young kitten of a thing - which one could imagine curled up in a onesie beside a roaring hot anything - to ask us for help.

She gently purred at us with a soft Polish lilt and a gentle smile. I think she was trying to ask if they could curl up and sleep at the foot of our beds for the night rather than face yet again the ravages of the midges which were descending like a heavy rain - which was also forecast to descend like heavy midges that night.

I apologised gently. Her soft smile evaporated in exactly the same way as the water here does not. The best I could do was to use Google maps to point them at the nearest campsite half way up a rather proudly erect Ben Nevis which thrust magnificently into the dew line. This is getting sexy isnt it?

I took this video of her trying to get her gargled words out as the panicky thought of spending another night on a waterbed non-flotation device in the middle of another nights downpour in a Tesco carrier bag of a tent thing on the side of a mountain whilst trying to service the 3 young male rats without an apple pie in sight. Poor thing.

Her face sank at my reply. I was desperate to help but could not. I had seen the weather forecast and knew what was coming their way. She thanked me and wandered on to the next potentially helpful target. 

London Alan is bemused how anyone could put themselves in such a situation. Planning is a core skill isn’t it? Perhaps yes. It is for Alan. You should see the size of his panniers on this ride. Goodness me! It’s as though his bike has been force fed the same eye steroids that I took post my eye operation in 2023 cos WOW are those suckers impressive! I think that he thought that bringing the kitchen sink on this ride was a jolly good idea being that he is a southern softie n all that. Methinks that he was perhaps a little over zealous in that it’s very likely we will find plenty of sinks in our accommodations as we traverse Scotland this year. 

Then there was the French group. Yep they had nutmegged themselves too. Not in that unprepared way no. London Alan now lives in Kent which is getting a bit close to our mortal enemies and might explain why he had loaded his bike so much cos WOW do the cheese eating surrender monkies know how to do it. Not only the kitchen sink but the full contents of a gite which is not unlike a small holiday apartment along with the bloody gite itself! 

That reminds me - London Alan asks if we might see any whales in the sea lock which wasn’t a bad thought really in this neck of the woods. Could there be Minke whales he enquires. Well says I Clouseau style, if you see a big fish broaching the waves with an impressive set of ears and eating bananas with its feet, then perhaps, Oui. If eating cheese then, non. It’ll be the French group who have in all probability taken a Google maps inspired short cut. 

Sorry for that small mindless detour. No. They are trying to navigate their way into Fort William using Google maps. 😳. Nuff said. 

They obviously were too engrossed in their mad French Google planning app of a thing which was attempting to take them down every assault course path including up and over the 10 meter climbing wall in the outdoor centre whilst trying to navigate their way to a cafe for the Scottish version of a coffee. Which is probably one peg down from the black flavourless tepid water reborn, now being served on the re-emergent British Rail trains along with bacon pucks and concrete pies courtesy of the Labour non-party.  

We’d first seen them about 3 miles outside of Fort William - both of us heading in approximately the same direction. London Alan says au-revoir being that he is now half Kentish Man and so half French and we set off on our differently planned routes towards Fort William’s town centre.  

We’d been outside the indoor centre for some time before the French came out of the front door in reverse from the inside into the outdoors hokey-cokeying and shaking it all about not unlike wot the Italians did earlier ‘cept they did it with a bit more style. Ciao baby. 

‘Allo Allo’ says their leader. Zis is a beautiful place n’est-ce pas? Mais wee sez I and a bit of entente cordiale ensues. 

Turns out they thought they were somewhere in Norway….

A dieu for now.