Coming back from holiday....

....is hard isn't it?

If I want to go for a swim, I have to brave the scummy, over-chlorinated local pools full of screaming toddlers and people who walk backwards into you. Not at all like swimming in the crystal-clear water off Jura or Iona, where you have a complete bay to yourself and the fish dart out of your way and the soft sand squishes up between your toes. Oh for the long, white beaches with rounded lumps of granite and marram grass framing them.

No more walks through ancient, enchanted woods. No more red deer melting into the shadows. No more taking drinking water from the spring behind the moss covered rocks, or sitting for ages just watching the evening light changing over the mountains.

Ho hum..............

The Corrywreckan Whirlpool

There is a distant place, where the devil stands just beneath the surface of the sea.

He keeps the water mirror-smooth, inviting you to cross.

Don't be fooled.

Not for one minute.

For when a boat tries to pass, wild with anger and unable to contain his frustration, he starts frantically leaping about.

He flings his tail in furious loops with one hand and spirals his pitchfork with the other.

Venomous bubbles vent from his twisted mouth and boil to the surface. Gimlet eyes cast spikes of foam to jump into the air. Waves crash into each other in their confusion.

The devil wants that boat, and all who sail in her.

And he wants them now.

NOW!