Washed Out

When I started this blog, way back in 2006, I lived in Lochgilphead in Argyll.

At the time, I joked that it rained on two days out of every three.

For the past fortnight, Mrs Wife and I have been on holiday in nearby Inveraray, the town where we married (also in 2006).

And I've realised that my "two days out of every three" joke wasn't a joke.

Barely a day has passed without us being subjected to a torrential downpour. Which has meant that we've spent the majority of our time confined to the static caravan where we're staying.

Which, in truth, hasn't been as bad as it sounds. It's been good to get away from home and work for a while, taking with us piles of books and DVDs. The weather has stayed dry long enough for us to have the occasional walk, we've visited a traditional sweetie shop (twice) and we've caught up with family and friends.

But today we head home to what I expect will be a mountain of mail. And Scotland v Czech Republic on TV (which I haven't actually told Mrs Wife about yet....)

Dark Humour

I received an email today that purported to be a true story from Campbeltown.

Apparently, a business in the town has the following poster in its window:

"We would rather do business with 1,000 Al Qaeda terrorists than with one single British soldier".

While on the face of things that would appear to be a fairly antagonistic message to display in the window of a British business, the email claims that the business in question is....

....a funeral parlour.

So, Argyll residents, is that a true story?

Pig's Ear

I'm reading a book at the moment, Pig Island by Mo Hayder, that is set in and around my former stomping ground, Mid Argyll.

It's interesting and entertaining to read a thriller set in a part of the world I know so well.

But what is irritating is that there are factual inaccuracies that leave me questioning the author's knowledge of the local area.

She mentions Oban having cobbled streets - but I don't recall any. She mentions that Oban Police Station is a brick building on the main street. But it's a sandstone building away from the town centre.

Inveraray (misspelt Inverary throughout) has a Superdrug and a Holland and Barrett - which will be news to its residents. Not only has it been turned into a major shopping centre, it's now only 15 miles from Crinan - or Crinian as Hayder insists on spelling it throughout the book.

These mistakes are so annoying that I'm almost tempted to give up on the book.

Which is a shame, as it's an otherwise entertaining read.

North Then South

The week ahead promises to be a busy one, with a spot of jet-setting preceding a weekend of music and pear cider in Argyll.

Tomorrow I fly out to Stavanger with five colleagues for the Offshore North Sea conference. I've never been to Norway before, so the novelty factor alone will make it an interesting trip, although the fact that I have to work while across the North Sea will take a little of the shine off.

Still, it's another corner of the world I'll be seeing for the first time, and it certainly beats three days stuck in the office.

I'm home alone at the moment as I prepare for my trip, Mrs Wife having left Dungroanin' on Thursday bound for Edinburgh and Cardiff, the former to take in some festival shows and the latter to see REM for the first time.

I'll arrive home from Scandinavia late on Wednesday night, and after a day in the office on Thursday, I'll be away to Inveraray for the second Connect Festival, where the bill this year includes Kasabian, Manic Street Preachers, Gomez, Franz Ferdinand and, most exciting of all from my point of view, Elbow.

Last year's festival felt like a well-kept secret, but I would imagine that this year's line-up will mean that a bigger crowd turns out. Still, as long as the weather holds and the pear cider is flowing, I'm sure it'll be another weekend to remember.