So, finally here we are, 'On our holiday' as people tend to say. Although I am not sure how I can be 'on' a holiday. I can be having one, yes, but 'on one' sounds mildly odd to say the least.
Are they everything they are cracked up to be these holidays?
Well, frankly the first two days were so stressful, I needed a holiday to get over the holiday and I haven't been here a week. But, already I digress.
We left in good spirits. That is a lie really. I left quite depressed actually, knowing my car would be repaired while I was away so it would pass the MOT and I already knew it would cost almost £800.
Early Saturday morning we packed everything into Andrew's car and I drove my car to my stepson, so he could use it for the entire two weeks. We left a detailed note. You know the kind of thing, how to feed cat, where to put cat at night, where cat food was when to treat cat to milk, along with more boring cat details. I still worry we may go home to a house minus one cat. Another note reminding him to leave the keys in the car as the garage was to collect it on the Monday. I told my lovely, elderly neighbour my stepson would be there and she seemed relieved. We had everything organised-I thought!
The journey was long but Andrew fell madly in love with his car and constantly reiterated this fact.
I attempt my best amazed look while deep down hating him and his ever efficient car while my useless one cannot even pass the MOT without a re-mortgage on the house.
'You're not in panic mode again are you?' look from Andrew.
So I desist any further and keep them to myself. I feel grateful I have brought earplugs. I then tell myself the estate will be so large that we probably wont even hear the rich revellers. I calm down and enjoy the sights, which are truly beautiful and quite breath-taking. The whole journey took close on 15 hours so I am relieved we had an overnight stop.
'Congratulations, you have reached your destination,' Tom Tom announces.
We are on a main road and seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I strain my neck to see a building resembling Blenheim Palace. I am not obsessed with the place you understand, we just live near it. So I am fully qualified to spot a lodge when I see one. It is still very light, in fact I have learnt that darkness barely exists here in Scotland this time of year, and I clearly can see there is no said lodge anywhere in sight.
To study the map, we had quickly pulled into the driveway of an empty gothic style dilapidated house, which was very reminiscent of Mary Shelly's novel. After a good look we decided to continue on a bit further although Andrew felt we were quite near. I should add at this point, even though it may seem irrelevant, but believe me later you will see it is not, that I am just a wee (note, accent slips in) bit pre menstrual.
So, we drive on until Andrew realises we must have missed it. I attempt to reassure him that is impossible. I know an estate when I see one. It has to be big. Our own cottage alone has two bedrooms, television, DVD player, and large kitchen with all mod cons, large lounge. He agrees and we continue on until we both accept we must have missed it. We turn around and head back.
'Look out for the bend in the round and the concealed entrance sign,' Andrew orders.
I keep my eyes peeled and then suddenly I see the sign.
He turns left and we are sitting outside the dilapidated house again.
'This is crazy, where is the place' I say irritation building up along with the tears.
Then I see the sign 'Glencarron Lodge' What! Is this a joke? Where is the 'Brideshead revisited' drive? Come to that, where is the Lodge? Where are the revellers?
'No worries about parties here then,' jokes Andrew.
Oh my god, if this is the Lodge, what does East Cottage look like?
I am now very close to tears and struggling to keep them at bay. Andrew takes the car slightly along the road and there is the sign for East cottage. A cottage on the main road! Oh this was not in the photos on the web page. We pull up outside what looks like a dilapidated farmhouse. Twenty years overdue for a coat of paint.
Andrew is trying to calm me down.
'Let's have a look inside and get unpacked,' he responds in a reasonable tone.
A range rover suddenly zooms up the drive with great urgency. The worried driver opens his window and calls Andrew over.
'There is a lamb with a broken leg in the lay by, are you the Shepherd?'.
I begin to cry. The man drives off happily confident in the assurance the baby lamb will be taken care of post haste. I now am beside myself. I have a lamb stuck on the road, no stalker to be seen and I have not even seen inside the cottage.
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