St. Fillan Jetty

Woke up with that really disconcerting "This isn't my bed" feeling and headbutted the flimsy wall of the caravan as I tried to remember where it was I was and why I was still full clothed under a duvet.

Eventually came to and after some medicinal square sausage and a bit of Steve Wright's Love Songs on the radio we took a chance that the rain was going to stay off long enough for a walk down to the village. Had a coffee in the local hotel whilst the owner went on at great length about the footballing fiasco at Ibrox, which was just what our hungover heads were needing.

Headed down the road after another good caravan sleepover with our droothy neeburs to curl up for some recuperative zeds and to enjoy the rest of Father's Day. Euan slipped me a card at 8:30pm with the price still on it and Heather phoned (at her own expense) all the way from Crete, between booze cruises and clubbing, to wish me a happy one.

You gotta love them. Cheers guys. XX