island's highlands

Plenty of people have already asked "What has been your favourite part of the trip so far?" but nobody has yet asked "What is your least favourite part of the trip so far?" Maybe they just assume my answer will be Heathrow Terminal 5 - which is a reasonable enough assumption I suppose.

I think having a freak out in Nottingham (all the way to Derbyshire and back) has been my least favourite part so far, but burning out here in Inverness gets a solid silver medal.

The cumulative result of too many short stays for me has been a sort of peregrination anhedonia, an inability to take delight in the most delightful possible travel experiences. I went to bed miserable last night, and I woke up even more miserable. As far as I was concerned, it didn't matter if Inverness were heaven or a shit-hole. My itinerary was starting to feel like a set of flash cards. I just wanted to get through it, which is no way to travel.

Stuart was sympathetic, and he and I explored our options cautiously, wondering which elements of our sadistic itinerary could be removed without a lifetime of regret. We found a way to extend our Bristol stay from 3 nights to 4, and a place where we could stay in London near a tube station instead of in Cornwall, near a pixie. This will really help our final day in the UK. (Originally that final day involved a drive from Newquay to Bristol, a train from Bristol to Heathrow, renting a luggage hotel, and then spending the whole day waiting for our 9pm flight out!)

Limping around Inverness tonight in our tracky dacks, breathing the cool mountain air, looking at the Platonic perfection of the River Ness, we wondered what sort of stay we could have had here if we hadn't been burned out. Maybe some other time, or some other lifetime.

Shopping today consisted of a few fridge magnets, a Marks and Spencer Quiche, a book of short stories by Guy de Maupassant, and a London hotel. We will watch TV and conk out tonight.Read more