Part 1: Overnight in Oban

Holidays are about getting away from it all - about leaving behind the plastic paraphernalia of modern day life - the clawing claustrophobia, the unceasing demands and pressures of industry and its daily routines.

Imagine instead the mesmeric murmur of a peat red mountain stream - the fragrant freedom of a windswept Scottish Isle.

Imagine instead being in the ruins of a medieval castle with the sooty blackness of a Scottish night about to fall.

Imagine Dave and me, both rather drunk with a comatose brother-in-law dangling between us and a very steep, very slippery path the only way down a very steep hill. Not perhaps the best way to start a holiday?

The following is an extract from a journal I kept during a walking tour of the Outer Hebrides. Dave (son-in-law) and Geoff (brother-in-law) accompanied me and, as will become apparent, Geoff is not so much accident as incident prone . . .

A number of delays, both in setting of and during the journey itself, meant that by the time we arrived in Oban we'd missed the ferry for South Uist - nothing for it but to find somewhere to stay for the night.

We may have worried the owner of the first guest house we tried on Dunollie road for she seemed to decide she had "no singles" very quickly. Success at our second attempt though, single and twin rooms at £15 a head - not bad value for money even if the landlady did forget to put the clocks forward the following morning (the start of British Summer Time) and argue we were too early for breakfast.

Having booked in we sallied forth to buy our ferry tickets and, just to be on the safe side, two types of anti-sea sickness pills - all of us to varying degrees worrying about our seven hour sea crossing the next day.

What can you do on a rainy day on in Oban? We found a pub. A bar, which Dave remembered from a previous visit had snooker and pool tables, was located. We threw some beer down our necks and some money down a quiz machine while waiting for a table to become free. We didn't mind not being able to answer sports questions or not being able to pot a ball at snooker but we did find having to ask for the toilet key every time we wanted to pee a bit irksome.

Several pints and games of snooker later we were a bit bored and a lot hungry. We took a walk during which Dave consumed the first of the fifty-six scotch Pies he would eat during the coming week. Geoff developed a taste for battered haggis and, not to be outdone, Dave then had a battered black pudding - all good wholesome Scottish produce. Rather conservatively and perhaps with thoughts of the crossing on my mind, I only managed a steak and kidney pie.

Dave decided it was time to show us the ruins of a castle round the North side of Oban Bay, which he said "Was not very far away and would make a pleasant walk. In any case," he added, "It had a view to make the effort worthwhile."

In other words he wanted to go to the top of a hill for a smoke.

With dusk and light drizzle of rain falling we walked on the beach round Oban Bay skimming stones into the sea and counting the bounces. Dave's 'not very far away' turned out to be over a mile and a half's walk. Leaving the beach we crossed the road and came to the steep, zigzag path, which led up to the ruins of Dunollie Castle. The drizzle made the path slippy and the ascent tricky but the view was worth the effort. Looking out over the sea the dusk made the passage through the Sound of Mull past Kerrera Island seem like the gateway to another dimension.

Sheltering in the ruins under an archway Dave lit up. We commented on the view, on the darkening gloom and on the smell of wood smoke coming from the fire a young couple round the corner were sitting round. Strange place for courting we thought. After a short while Geoff said he didn't want to smoke anymore.

Then he said "This is really having an effect on me".

Then he collapsed.

He seemed to fall in slow motion, sideways on, folding himself down to gently meet and follow the contours of the ground.

I suppose that considering we'd been drinking from mid-afternoon, and had just climbed a rather large hill, that a moment of stunned inactivity was deserved - so we had one.

I remember Dave giggling in the background as I bent down to feel Geoff's face. It was cold and wet and our first thoughts were that it was going to get colder and wetter so we'd better get him on his feet. We got him upright but not quite on his feet, they just seemed to dangle between us with his toes not quite touching the ground.

It was while he dangled between us that the guy from the fire came over and asked us if he was all right. "Oh yes," I replied. "He's just had a wee bit too much to drink".

Then he said "Perhaps the smoke from the fire's affected him?"

To this day we're not sure if the guy was just joking or being genuinely solicitous. Either way it became a phrase that dominated the coming week. It was also a phrase that Geoff would spend the rest of his life living down.

So here we were - in the ruins of a castle in the rain. A comatose brother-in-law dangled between us and a steep and slippery path was our only way down. We walked him up and down a bit hoping his legs would switch to automatic.

Then it hit us - it's going to be dark in a minute. 'Oh oh,' I thought, 'we'll never get him down.'

Drastic measures were called for. Positioning ourselves on either side of Geoff we slung his arms over each of our shoulders and carried him to the top of the path.

Problem! The path was barley wide enough for one, let alone three abreast. Instant lateral re-thinking led to both his arms going round Dave's neck and with me taking the rear clutching handfuls of jacket; we began the treacherous descent.

That we actually reached the bottom without falling I put down to the fact that we were a little drunk, I don't believe we'd have made it sober. But make it to the road we did and began carrying him back into Oban.

We passed a group of sea divers who pretended to be more interested in putting on their wet suits than in our strange ensemble and I believe we relieved the boredom of more than one passing motorist - a Volvo slowed almost to a standstill obviously wondering if we intended to dump the body we were carrying over the wall and into the sea.

Halfway back, on Corran Esplanade, we were feeling Geoff's weight so Dave asked him if he could manage on his own.

"No, no," said Geoff, who knew when he was onto a good thing, "I think the old legs could do with a bit more rest yet."

So, we carried him the rest of the way to Oban and into the Poop Deck Bar behind the North Pier where we sat him down and ordered three pints.

Two of the pints were for Dave and me, the third was to put in front of Geoff in the hope it would make him look normal and there was always the chance that the sight of it might wake him up enough to drink it.

Geoff didn't drink his pint but he did wake up enough to relate his experience to us. He enthralled us with graphic descriptions of the skin sliding off his face and onto the ground, and just how comfortable the ground had been.

He was also surprised at how quickly we'd walked back to Oban and was disappointed when we told him he hadn't. Geoff's tale, along with a general discussion on the efficacy of wood smoke as an anaesthetic passed the time nicely until he felt normal enough to manage on his own.

Leaving the bar we stopped at the chip shop on George Street. Dave needed a scotch pie to help him recover and Geoff felt that a fish might warm him up a bit. Back in the B & B Geoff said he'd take the single room and disappeared for the night leaving Dave and I to share the twin room.

See some Pictures from Keith's Trip