Well all my money problems are now over! Yes thanks to a lucrative offer to commission a new blog, from Mr and Mrs Matthews, regarding the 2007 Jura holiday, we are now financially secure. I know we shouldn't be "lovers of money" but the undisclosed sum couldn't have come at a better time. What a wonderful commodity April holidays have become, they seem to bring out that youthful exuberance lurking inside all of us. The prospect of an April holiday embraces a sense of adventure and the promise of good things to come, that never goes unfulfilled. Due to contractual obligations the Jura 07 is the only April holiday that can be blogged at present and here it is. So sit back relax enjoy a wee dram of your favourite malt and enjoy some impressions of Jura.

Some chose to fly there, some chose to drive, my patrons did both! We had an overnight stop, got the ferry from Kennacraig to Islay and the short passenger ferry across to Feolin on Jura. Can't say I was that impressed with Islay, it's hailed as the Queen of the Isles but I found it to be a bit drab and monotonous. Due to work being done at Port Ellen we had to board the ferry at Port Ascaig on the other side of the island, which meant we did have a good look at the island. Although I found it flat and uninspiring it was impressive that there was a definitive lack of chain stores. The narrow cobbled streets were quaint, reminiscent of a Victorian oil painting of Westminster, all that was needed was the gas lamps and the obligatory horse drawn carriage.

Going by first impressions Jura was as different from Islay as Stravinsky is from Vaughan Williams the former drags on without any real end product, the latter - atmospheric, whilst at the same time very beautiful. I just recall rounded peaks searing upwards into the rolling mist, the odd shaft of late afternoon sun lighting up the bay like a car headlamp. It was here we boarded the Jura Bus, a fine enterprise that shuttles passengers up and down the islands only road, which terminates at Inverlussa. The driver was telling us that Jura is one of the best places to see Otters, it is estimated there are at least two pairs for every three miles of coastline it is also renowned for Sea Eagles, we didn't see any, I suspect what he really meant was Sea gulls! We didn't see any Otters either!

Jura House where we stayed was about seven or eight miles from the ferry terminal, it would have been a long way to walk with all our luggage, you see the unique thing about this holiday was there were no cars, excluding the Ozvan which Oz very kindly employed to transport about a dozen bikes across. Jura House is a magnificent building, built in 1881 as a shooting lodge, sadly a little 'stayed' inside but nonetheless a living testimony to the pride of Victorian architecture. The setting was immense, several acres of woodland, the exquisite Jura Gardens and just to top it all our own private beach! I think, for a city dweller, the remoteness and serenity of this setting compared to the hustle and bustle of city life is a gap almost too far to bridge. As I stood on the beach watching Elliot fishing, the edge of the tide swilling and playing amongst the smooth boulders, I concurred, it's hard not to be relaxed and at peace with yourself here.

In need of refurb but still a privilege to stay there

Team meal always a special time

Mandy, Lyndon, Jeff, Wills

Nice aspect of the stately Jura House

Once we were all settled in and unpacked it was time for our evening meal at the Jura Hotel. Now let me tell you something very interesting about this gem of an island, the name Jura means Deer Isle and that's precisely what it is, apparently there are about a hundred Deer for every human! Jura has a permanent population of around 200, so that equates to 20, 000 Deer, incredible! I was told by a resident of the Island that all their freezers are packed with Venison all year round. This is reflected in the restaurant menu, I had Venison sausage, Deb had Venison burger, I even recall what we had for starter... Venison soup! We were sat at the same table as Tom and Victoria, and if my memory serves me right, they had Venison as well. It's a curious thing writing these blogs, something opens up in the sub conscious, flashbacks, that dark side of the moon, and I can even remember what we were talking about on certain occasions, in this instance we were discussing what was going through our minds on our wedding day, yes, reminiscing about our special day, in a special place.


On day one I thought I would have a little explore, let the heart and mind wander where it will. I found myself ambling along towards the quay at the end of our beach. On one side of me, endless sea encapsulated in an awe inspiring sunrise, on the other side, endless peat cuttings shining and glistening like the backs of slugs. On the way back, I came the closest yet to sighting a wild Otter,
only problem being, this specimen was deceased, never mind, at least I have confirmation that this little creature does actually exist!

endless sea... awe inspiring sunrise

Looking back on the Jura holiday, which at the time of writing was four years ago, there were two things that have come to stand as unique in April holidays, that for some reason haven't re-emerged to become a constant feature, they are the ' after dinner speeches' and 'beach fires'. The 'beach fires' were by courtesy of Jeff, a country lad born and bred but also the local pyromaniac! He could get a roaring fire going out of thin air, which kept us entertained most of the evenings. The 'after dinner speeches' were spontaneous expressions of commendation for individuals or the whole team in general including some heartfelt sentiments of endearment. I remember one of Lyndon's dissertations about how he was a little apprehensive about fitting into such a large group but was so pleased to seamlessly slot in and become an integral member of the team. As it happens we all appreciated his ability to transform something mundane into something hilarious. A dry sharp wit with a Geordie twang.

Tom presents the Mathews family

beach fires every night

Life was good!

One of the highlights to me was our botched attempt of the Evans path. The personnel were Sue, Oz, Leila, Lyndon and myself. One person's name should be illuminated in gold, Lyndon! Why you might ask, well even before we set off many heads were turned and word was going round because people wanted a sneaky look at this courtly looking country gent whose rustic sported plus fours and knee length bright yellow walking socks! We pulled up alongside Lowlandmans Bay. It was a bleak and windswept moorland scene as you could have wished for, the wind contoured the huge grey mounds, you kind of got that sense that you were on an island. To most City kids 'wind' is just 'wind' and that's that, an irritating annoyance or a necessary evil but I have come to appreciate that in the Motherland a wind blowing through a mountain pass is totally different from a wind blowing over miles of peat bog, you can even detect the spicy tang of the peat on occasion. All things considered I think the slate grey skies and inky clouds gave the area a deeper and more abiding highland charm than a perfect summers day with azure sky would have done.

start of Evans path. Leila, Sue, Oz, Lyndon.

slate grey skies... abiding charm

Lyndon said in the van that if he dropped down dead on the 'Evans' path, we would have to bury him in the peat and mark the spot with a cairn, we all complied with this request, what worries me is, I'm still not sure whether he was joking or not. No sooner had we started the walk, it was evident Lyndon was experiencing some difficulties. I'll never forget one occasion that makes me laugh every time I think about it, Lyndon was behind us, all was well with the world, when I heard an "Ooooh-aaaaarghhh!" I turned round to see Lyndon, both legs thigh deep in bog with Sue and Leila, one on each arm, hoisting him out! I would have loved to have photographed it but both me and Oz were paralyzed with laughter. One of the funniest sights I have ever seen. I think I would rather die falling off a 'precipice' than being sucked in by bog, it must be like being suffocated by an overweight Python! I was even more amazed when Lyndon explained why he kept landing in bog when the rest of us managed to avoid it, his glasses were continually getting misted up, he couldn't see where he was going! I lent him my ski goggles so he could preserve his glasses underneath, we didn't hear anymore "Ooooh- aaaaarghhh's" after that!

Lyndon is the one at the back!

''what happens if I fall in!''

Must admit, when I looked at the Evans path on the map, I thought it was a walk in the park, just a little loosener up. A straight line, almost, dissecting the Island. I took the map purely for reference, didn't bother taking a compass, it has to be said with great regret, in reality there was no path, only sheep tracks criss crossing all over the place, and that's where we were, all over the place! The Loch's shown on the map really do appear to be in a different location and on this occasion I think the map was wrong. After wasting a lot of time trying to charter our own path, we had to bite the bullet and head back, not wanting to be late for the designated tea time. We didn't even make it to Glen Batrick which was a great shame, would have loved to have walked down that narrow glen, never mind, will just have to put it down as 'unfinished business'. On the way back Leila's voice screamed out behind us "snake!" and sure enough, there was an Adder slithering around, we were awestruck, what a fine creature. One must ponder the question, if we have all evolved by blind chance, why is everything so beautiful? Just look at that stunning pattern on the snake, did it need to have that or is it a finishing touch from the Creator?

The Adder

Look at the detail on those markings

A couple of interesting things came to light that evening, one, a receipt was found at the bottom of a drawer that was for a salve for Adder bites! Yes Jura is a hot spot for Adders, but you still do well to spot one because their habitat is amongst isolated rocky places. Second, Leila came across a gem of an item in a local newspaper about a man who got well and truly hopelessly lost and disoriented on the Evans path and had to be airlifted off before nightfall! If ever there was a walk that was a 'sheep in wolves clothing' it's that one.

Later that same evening in the lounge, I was put right on the spot, you see I had been doing these impersonations of Lyndon, not completely behind his back, but not far off, however it had got back to Lyndon's ears that I had been taking him off, and now he wanted to see these impersonations first hand. I felt a bit awkward, not knowing how he would take it, but went for it anyway! I've put it in writing phonetically as best as I can, so here it is " it wuz all marked owt Ozzi, it wuz on lake, buwadz, and every fave minatz there was a powast and owaver all the boggy bits there wuz lake rubba nettan...at the end of the daya Marndy pet... we do not appreciayayat Sayatan". Well he wasn't just laughing, he was laughing on top of laughing, tears rolling down the big man's face. Yes I can safely say I got the green light on that one. It's a nice thing when someone has got the capacity to laugh at themselves and Lyndon has proved himself to be a gregarious jolly old chap.

There were some happy times spent in the drawing room, Mandy appreciates her poetry and read a Shakespeare sonnet beautifully, which was her favourite poem. I reciprocated with my favourite poem, 'Song- from Tethy's Festival' by Samuel Daniel, Mandy absolutely adored it and wants me to read it at her funeral! I hope that time never comes, but here it is reprinted in full...

Are they shadows that we see, and can shadows pleasure give?
Pleasures only shadows be, cast by bodies we conceive
And are made the things we deem, in those figures which they seem.

But these pleasures vanish fast, which by shadows are expressed
Pleasures are not if they last, in their passing is the best
Glory is most bright and gay, in a flash and so away

Feed apace then greedy eyes, on the wonder you behold
Take it sudden as it flies, though you take it not to hold
When your eyes have done their part, thought must lengthen it in the heart.

It has become known affectionately as the Jura poem. I often think about the truthfulness of those words, you can't take hold of a good time and keep it forever, everything is fleeting, the pleasure really is in the passing. Yes time is one directional, however once it has passed, like this holiday, the heart can preserve it forever, just think about that, here I am four years later dwelling on those happy memories.

One thing that had been bugging me about Jura, was that it's supposed to be teaming with deer, its very name means Deer island and as yet we had not seen a single Deer, even though we had been out and about and had a good look at the place, well that was about to change. I was in the kitchen washing a cup, rather nonchalant, looking out of the window but not really looking, lost in thought really, when an enormous Stag mighty in every aspect strolled so elegantly passed the kitchen window! He stuck out his chest and tossed back his massive antlers with the swagger of a Red Indian Chief in full plumage! Strange thing was it felt like I was in his space, not that he was in mine. From that point on we saw Deer all over the place, Deer Island lives up to its name.

The housekeeper for Jura House was a Dutch lady called Mijriam, a very sociable lady who discharged her assignment dutifully and conscientiously, even adding a certain personal touch, however it has to be said there was one aspect of her ways we did find a tad irritating though at the same time highly amusing. She was a cross between Mr Ben and Big Brother. Big Brother I'm sure needs no introduction, but whether Miriam took it upon herself to keep an eye on us I don't know but wherever we were on the Island Mim just happened to be going past in her postvan, no sooner had you got on to the road, there was Mirijam! Now Mr Ben was a ' watch with Mother' character from the early 1970's, who had the ability to magically appear anywhere and that's what Mjiriam did, there would be a group of us congregated in the kitchen, just chatting, then it would suddenly dawn on us Miriajm was right there in our midst! When we figured out she was letting herself in, we bolted the front door but Mijm was one step ahead of the game, she came up through the cellar! As if by magic Mjirijam appeared! When we bolted the cellar door as well she was not amused.

Round about this time, my lad, Elliot, who was then 13, was a keen fisherman. A few of us were contemplating giving fishing a go but was a little unsure of which loch to go to, or even which lochs we had permission to go to. By this time Mirjiam had miraculously appeared and was advising us to go to a loch at the other end of the Island, we reminded her that we only had bikes and didn't want to travel to the ends of the earth, however this seemed to fall on deaf ears, and she kept blathering on about this loch at the other end of the Island, at this point I must admit I mentally switched off. Next thing I knew, jMiriam was waving the palm of her hand frantically in front of my eyes, saying "hello, hello... is there anybody home? You're not listening to me are you?!" At first I tried to salvage some self respect and pretend I was listening but pretty soon had to admit to all present, yes I had completely zoned out! Sorry Mim.

The bike ride to Loch a Chruie-bhric was one of about twelve miles. I, for one severely underestimated my cycling proficiency. I had worked on my fitness and had these visions of me burning effortlessly up and down hills, that clearly was just not going to happen, in reality I was visibly struggling before we had even got out the gate! I strongly advised Elliot to catch up with the others, not to hang around for me, I'll get there when I get there. After puffing and blowing up and down a couple of hills, to my consternation there was Elliot at the side of the road waiting. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to catch up with the others" I blurted out. On closer inspection, the poor lad was fighting back tears, his gears were all mangled up, he couldn't ride his bike and was waiting for his Dad. The pathos of the situation still causes my heart to swell. I put my arm round him gave him a big hug and assured him everything would be fine. Now his Mum didn't by any means marry a handyman but I had my only tool, brute force! I bent it back into shape, granted it was a bodge and he could only ride it in third gear but at least we were mobile again.

Abhain Mhor River

All our woes were not past however, no sooner had we got going, his fishing rod slipped through his arm into the front wheel as we were racing downhill at about 20mph . The bike stopped instantly, Elliot was catapulted into the air like a human cannonball, while the bike and the fishing rod had a fast and furious altercation. Elliot's bones must be made of rubber, he didn't feel a thing, all his focus was on the fishing rod, it was very precious to him, it was a gift from his Granddad. I'd never seen him so anxious as he ripped the rod out of the bag, pieced it together, and to our utter amazement, it was fine. I examined the bike too and wonder of wonders, there were no casualties on either side.

When we finally reached the loch, the first thing that caught my eye was seven circular ponds! It was a blinking fish farm, we weren't even going to catch a cold here, it was futile, poor old Tom, I think the day he catches a fish I'll see an Otter! We had great fun though, I've noticed Tom and Harry can generate fun out of anything, they're the sort of lads you need on a group holiday to improve the overall dynamics, I think the word 'vivace' is the word I was looking for. We ended up running and jumping over these rafts, only problem was if you didn't connect to the next raft you were in the drink! The ride back was tortuous, having not rode a bike since I was a kid, saddle soreness was almost beyond endurance. I seem to remember Rachel, Vic and Laura being in real trouble too. Later in the week we had another go at fishing, this time at the 'Market Loch', there was a boat available here which was a nice experience. We used ground bait this time, that didn't work either!

Loch a Chruie Bhric

Harry + Tom + Elliot= FUN!

Elliot on standing stone

Market Loch

Keen Fishermen!

Impressions of Jura wouldn't be complete without a word or two about the Jura Shop. This was like being transported back in time to before the supermarket era, when Corner Shops held sway. Everything was on shelves, the shelves themselves were divided up into compartments and there were nine shelves from floor to ceiling. All the produce was meticulously displayed, it must have been a shame when anybody bought anything! Phrases like 'the papers didn't come today' and 'the milks still in the cows' were commonplace, that, I came to appreciate is Island life. The shop was managed by a brusque though polite Yorkshireman named Peter. Apparently Peter and Miriam didn't quite hit it off, "she's nuts" he said as he motioned his forefinger in a circular motion in the direction of his head! I humoured him but preferred not to get involved.

The renowned Jura shop

Love the shelves

The principal township, Craighouse, was a delightful place, it meanders on and on like a babbling brook that doesn't want to end. Whitewashed dwellings glistening in the low spring evening sun, being overlooked by those angry looking girt bastions, the Paps, a bit like a Lioness watching over her cubs. The water in the bay can sometimes be that still, I'm sure you would be able to spot a ball of fluff a hundred yards away! The road continues to hug the shoreline in enduring brace until it twists out of vision. I will always remember with great fondness, biking into Craighouse when whiskey manufacturing was in full production. I think it was when they had just fermented the first barley crop, the air was alive with the sublimely gorgeous stench of hoppy, tangy ale, it was special. The mouth watering stench seemed to permeate the air for a radius of about a mile and just hang there. I don't know whether it was coincidence, but it made me feel very happy.

The delightful Craighouse...

... in soft evening light.

I don't think any mountain lover could fail to be lured to the commanding summits of one or more of the Paps of Jura. We, that is, Sue, Oz, Tom, Leila, Jeff and myself set out on a determined assault on Beinn Shiantaidh. 'Determined assault' is no exaggeration, that is what it had to be, you see all the Paps are defended by miles of boggy moorland, sometimes awkward, sometimes frustrating, sense of humour always essential. An image permanently etched on my mind, was just after we branched off from the straight line to Lochan-t-Siob looking towards Beinn Shiantaidh. What a picture, angry streams of pulsating granite, leading the eye upward to a pall of grey and white cloud rolling over the dome of a majestic island mountain. All of this against a backdrop of a velvet blue sky. It was like an ever opening flower, the more you feasted your eyes on it, the better it got. We just stood and stared. Made me wonder what wonderful things cameras are, you can in effect, immortalize a fragment of fleeting beauty, for endless reflection and admiration.

Beinn Shiantaidh

we just stood and stared

if I remember rightly Harry through a rock in at this point!

Lochan-t - Siob

On the subject of mountains, I in no way intend to downgrade the Alps, dolomites, Pyrenees etc, maybe it's a personal thing, but I feel they are too deeply imposed on the world stage, a bit too theatrical. For me I feel no more at home tackling Scottish hills, each one is like a miniature book, peculiar to you and the experiences and laughs you've maybe had with your mates or your wife conquering it. Therefore each one you haven't done is like a book unread. That was the case with the Paps, it was a real hard pull to the summit, I'd say in excess of forty five degrees, but we soon seemed to reach the summit, no real navigational challenges once we were on the hill proper. I think we may have slightly mistimed it, can't be helped, but when we were on the summit, it was a wee bit hazy, but that soon dissipated on descent. Nonetheless we had commanding views of the island, I couldn't help but notice Glen Batrick house on the west, the destination of the ill fated 'Evans' path walk, and the main artery of the Glen Batrick river, snaking down the glen.

The Paps and azure blue skies

look at that angle!

The ride back was a joy, if you ever find a road more beautiful in Scotland than the Jura road, I would like to see it, from the vantage point of the Paps it resembled a twisting ribbon. We drove back with the van door open, all the time in view of the wonderful coastline. I couldn't believe the abundant birdlife, Cormorants, Dippers, Curlews, Wild Swans and Buzzards as common as Seagulls. At one point two foreigners enquired if they could have a lift to the other end of the island. None of us felt comfortable about having two impromptu foreign guests but were too polite to say so, spreading ourselves over every bit of available van floor, as if to say, look there's no room. The driver wasn't so polite, instantly vanquishing any lingering ambiguity, NO! Was the answer, not a normal 'no' but the OzNO! What is the difference you may wonder, well the OzNO has a definite ring to it, is uttered with a slight gutterel sound, tinged with honesty and no hope of retraction. That was that then. For some reason we stopped just outside Craighouse to watch a helicopter take off, I don't know what the big deal was, we were transfixed for ages, I was even filming it. Was it going to loop the loop or something? No, it just...took off!

Brosdale Island

It was a superb convivial atmosphere on reaching the Jura Hotel. We were united with our families, the spring sun was intense but tempered just nicely by a refreshing breeze off the Atlantic. Life was good. What a way to be rejuvenated, supping ice cold lager with our families whilst basking in glorious sunshine under the shade of Palm trees! We met a very pleasant man who turned out to be Mjirjam's husband, Ptr Coul, a skilled artisan who is responsible for Jura gardens, a master of his art. I tried to be clever and ask him if he was a 'Jurach', that is a native of Jura, but I pronounced it wrong, phonetically it's articulated as 'Jerk'! Some of us visited the Jura distillery shop, I've never known such genuinely friendly and helpful staff, they couldn't do enough for us, they were actually zealous in getting us to try out different Malts, the two ladies were born and bred on the island and I do think that makes a difference. We're not accustomed to drinking in the afternoon and this was reflected in the bike ride home, a very memorable bike ride indeed. The photograph is unintentionally blurred I could have had the option of sharpening it up a bit, but I thought it would be more fitting to leave it as it is! I'll say no more.

lovely day, sunshine and the Jura Pub!

The convival Jura Distillery

Harry, Deb, Laura. This was left blurred for a reason!

On reaching Jura House, the first person to greet me was Lyndon, he lunged forward and grasped my hand that hard it felt like it was in a bench vice, and looking me straight in the eye, he thanked me implicitly! Not knowing what on earth was going on I played along and assured him that this act of generosity or whatever it was, was well founded. Whether or not Lyndon, being an ex Policeman, and me being often transparent in these situations, saw straight through the facade, I don't know. Apparently, unbeknown to me, Deb had bought Lyndon and Mandy a set of whiskey tumblers from the gift shop, it went without saying I would have no trouble with this, about a year previous I had been seriously ill and had to have a few months off work, my patrons arranged to have fresh organic fruit and veg delivered to my doorstep weekly throughout the duration and beyond, what a kind and thoughtful gesture that was. This small gift was a token of our gratitude, which if I remember correctly was the subject matter for another one of those after dinner speeches. Deb had a right generosity streak, among other things she bought Rachel a 'Jura' hip flask heightening a very special friendship between the two as Mr Downes later referred to them as 'Bad Girls'.

It's a point worth mentioning that not all on the team are ardent walkers or budding mountaineers, but we all have a love for the Motherland and when we assemble as one unit for the evening meal, it's a special time, a time for us all to share our exploits. I know for example my patrons spent some time on Islay and went round at least one distillery. It speaks volumes to, that young Wills and to some extent Mandy, suffer chronically from asthma, yet the highland air didn't give their bronchial tubes much aggravation. It also has to be said, that nobody gets away with anything, my dear friend Lyndon was once sighted making the transition from the bedroom to the bathroom, sporting only a very small towel! Word I'm afraid did get round about this tactical manoeuvre, in consequence of that incident Lyndon received a series of small gifts throughout the following year consisting of items such as miniature hand towels and towels with his name embroidered upon them. I must admit I had an integral part in this run of practical jokes, my conscience still prods me to this very day, but not very much!

No visit to Jura would be complete without a visit to the illustrious Corryvrekan whirlpool, hailed by Tom as the only British waters deemed impassable by the Royal Navy. The beautiful twisting ribbon of a road, I mentioned earlier, starts off in fine condition, well metalled, but beyond Craighouse it gradually begins to deteriorate, by the end of the public road at Lealt it resembles the bed of a mountain stream. I'll never forget being cramped up in the back of the Ozvan, when Oz shouted "hold on to your pants!" I had never heard this expression before, but sensed something momentous was going to take place and it did, I was sat there like a little Buddha, but soon became a bouncing Buddha when my head hit the van roof, as the Ozvan took off over a bump, I thought I was going to be permanently crippled as my sacrum coccyx hit the floor, apparently making a slight indentation! I was in severe pain, and shock too not knowing what was about to happen, but glad to say soon made a gallant recovery.

I had a hunch that this whole whirlpool thing was going to be an anti climax, this was verified when we saw a Paddle boat circumnavigating the dreaded waters! That gave us all a laugh, the R.N daren't send a frigate across there but old Jock McTavish up the road has no trouble floating across in his dinghy! In fairness, I think you've got to be there at the right time. I believe the whole phenomena is caused by an underwater mountain and all the action is around the time of the turning of the tide, we just happened to be there at the wrong time. Apparently George Orwell timed it right and nearly lost his life, as he was endeavouring to sail to the nearby island of Scarba, and had to be rescued. Just think there nearly wasn't a 'Big Brother', what would Mirijajm have done then! We walked past 'Barnhill' which so sadly seems to be Jura's one and only claim to fame, in my opinion this is hyped up far too much, the natural charm and wild beauty of the Island should take precedent and this almost insignificant point should be an 'also ran'. The six mile walk from the road end was a delight, stunning rock scenery seemed to have an interplay with grassy meadows like the piano bustling for attention against the orchestra in a Brahms piano concerto. I was both amazed and amused to see the horns on some wild goats, they must really get in the way! Apparently these Goats' descendants stem back to the demise of the Spanish Armada!

a legacy from the Spanish Armada

Barnhill, from where Mr Orwell wrote 1984

Our last two days were lazy days spent relaxing on the beach. When we were packing for this holiday, Deb asked me if I thought we would need sun cream I replied "don't be daft we won't be needing that!" Well as usual I'm the one with egg on my face. It beggars belief that I found myself nursing sunburn on a Hebridean Island in early April! If it wasn't for Mandy having some 'after sun' I would have been in real trouble. It was idyllic, it seemed strange how there was just our group in somewhere so serene, normally beauty spots attract people by virtue of their beauty, but here we weren't going to be disturbed by anybody, I don't think we even encountered Mjiriamj! We might as well have been on a desert island! At one point I thought I would go for a dander round the peninsular, en route back to the beach I could hear some shouting and screaming, in a fun kind of way, I thought, that's got to be our girls in the sea, and sure enough, it was, they must have been half a mile away, but nothing was blocking sound waves in this island wilderness and no wonder they were screaming, man that sea was like ice! Those last two days engendered a bit of a Mediterranean feel, like we were all lazing round the pool, playing with the kids, having a laugh, I think it was on the last day, I cycled to the shop to get some emergency provisions, on the way back I got the obligatory puncture, no sooner had I started pushing my bike, Aidy, the bike expert was at my side! He must have seen me through his bins, as if by magic Aidy appeared to fix my puncture! Now that's what I call a team spirit.

our own private beach. Even jMirijam wasn't there!

The Author pondering over his next blog!

The Fishermen again

never did catch anything!

Sadly, now it's time for home, final morning, Oz was a real star, shuttling our bikes, ourselves and our luggage back and forth from the ferry. Overhead, the morning stars still shone. The clear cut outline of the Paps were well etched albeit against a dim tinged dawn sky. The faint cry of birds was like the last echo of Jura calling to us. The Paps, the narrow glens, the burns, the long, winding road- the twisting ribbon, our beach, the beach fires, Jura House, the peaceful land, gone but not forgotten, no certainly not forgotten, because,
we will be back,

won't we Mandy!