The only Gays on the Island.
Back from a wedding on the Isle of Skye, which is about as far away from civilisation as you can get. It takes forever to get there because once you get past Glasgow it's all A Roads (and the Highlands seem to attract people who like to "ooh" at the scenery while driving at 10 miles an hour). Anyway, once you've seen one mountain you've seen them all, so I was pretty bored for a week. The tv where we were staying only had 4 channels (and a terrible reception on three of them). The "Metropolis" of Skye is a tiny place called Portree - again, full of "outdoorsy" people who had strapped bikes and canoes to their roof-racks. Although there is loads of space on Skye (you have to drive down about 50 miles of poorly surfaced road in order to buy a tomato or a newspaper), parking spaces in Portree were at a minimum - with the result that just before the wedding, the groom got shouted out by some local Mean Old Man in a White Delivery Van for some parking violation that I've still not really figured out. So much for friendly locals. Then, at the wedding dinner the waitress spilt a jug of water all over the table which set the married couple's 2 year old off crying, so they ended up leaving. Oh, and my fella fell down a slope while photographing a mountain and broke his arm and sprained his ankle. So I've been playing Baby Jane to his Blanche for the last few days. At least the experience has made me re-evaluate my opinion of cities. I'll never complain about Big Issue sellers, prostitutes, discarded packets of cocaine, aggressive advertisting etc etc again. Well, maybe not for a couple of weeks.