Wherever I wander, wherever I rove..

The air in the highlands, whilst not the lung cleansing of the air of the Alps, is clean and fresh, and in September has the nip of Autumn in it.  

The streets are full of West Highland Way walkers, Hill Walkers, and hill gazers.  I know they were hill gazers, because instead of walking poles, they had crutches and zimmers, and of course, I was one of them.  I adore the hills. Just adore them, but reckon that should I start up one, I might cry.  I know this when Si has previously tried to make me climb a sand dune on the beach. 

We had a lovely bimble along the high street, full of tourist pap, highland cow prints, highland cow tea towels, and soft toys, whisky, See You Jimmy Hats and Penguins.  Yes, penguins, in the Highlands. Apparently. 

When we reached the station we realised that the train was going to be busier than on the way up, the station was absolutely stowed. 

When the train eventually arrived, (backwards from Mallaig), some people got off, but others stayed put.  We found our seats, and found someone sitting on them, and all their belongings spread over the other three seats. 

We waved our tickets and pointed at the seat tickets, and they apologised profusely and gathered up their stuff and moved seats, and then their newly found friend came back on board from stretching their legs.   Her new friend decided now was an appropriate time to introduce herself and her husband since they had become exceptionally good friends on the way from Mallaig.  Fred and Ginger, which she repeated several times, laughing hysterically all the time  - "me Ginger, him Fred".   (Her name wasn't Ginger, but his name was Fred, and she reckoned that calling themselves, Fred and Ginger would be a good way for her to remember the name)

I turned to Si, Pleaded with him, with my eyes to kill me; i knew how this journey was going to go.  Si kindly pulled up his newspaper, and I buried myself in my crochet.  Mistake.  My crochet was instantly brought into the conversation.    Ginger prefers knitting.  Ginger wanted to know all the things that the lovely Bee (What a lovely, lovely unusual name, why were you called that, I remember an actress called Bee);  Repeat name 15 times while contemplating whether you would have chosen that name. 

Then Ginger started on the benefits of her rail card.  I decided to glance up... she had the same rail card as me. I looked at Si and asked again with my eyes (Jeesuus H Christ Is that me? ) - he laughed and shook his head.   Ginger had had a run in with a previous attendant with regard to the validity of the card and the size of coffee; this story took ten minutes and was repeated fifteen minutes later when another guard came through with a trolley and then again when someone else sat next to them.   

We also learned about other journeys Fred and Ginger had undertook, how much it rains in Scotland, how her politics lay, how Fred had uncovered her family history and yes, her family history was crucial in the determination of Scotland's fate.   

Ginger didn't like nuclear weapons and the big dirty things should be taken away, but then contemplated how we were going to stop Putin bombing us.  She happily pointed out Greenham common - where we passed on the train (in Scotland).  And yes, there were the grandchildren of the original Greenham Common Peace Campers still camped there. 

I gazed out the window and at that point, decided that despite my underlying urge to always speak to people when they are on their own 
to make them feel less alone and uncomfortable I was never, ever, going to do it again.  I actually felt less like speaking to anyone ever again, especially poor Si. 

When Bee left the train, there were hugs and kisses all round, and promises of friendship for ever after. I noted though, that Bee left before telling her second name, or leaving a forwarding address. 

The rest of the journey was spent contemplating where Bee may be at that particular moment, and reliving Bee's conversation on the train, and of course, when the coffee man came along..... the injustice of the coffee saga. 

Expect my next blogs, to be shorter, and more concise.