pint , feeling I deserved it , despite the relative earliness of the day and knowing it would guarantee an afternoon snooze . Another winter , as teenagers , we walked out from Shef�ield to Strines , in snow deep enough to allow all walls to be straddled easily . It was dark when we got to the pub and , not surprisingly , were the only ones there . We stayed two days , a snow-in if not a lockin .
The week before my Peak District ramble I ’ d been in Scotland , cycling for a week on a loop out of Oban through the Outer Hebrides , back to Skye then down through Moidart , Glen Shiel , across to Mull and thence back to Oban .
Mark , an old friend who I ’ d �irst met when we were working at an outdoor centre in the Brecons , near 40 years ago , had driven up from his home near Barcelona with bikes on board for us both . He scooped me up in Shef�ield and we continued up , �irst to stay with friends in Stirling . As we enjoyed a late-night dram or two , I recalled my time working for North Cape , a now defunct outdoor clothing company , based in Stirling . On my �irst day visiting the factory , some of the machinists insisted I join them for a drink after work . There I experienced the delights of mixing the national hard and soft drinks of Scotland in one glass - whisky and Irn Bru . It was the �irst and last time .
The Outer Hebrides were new ground to me , a place I ’ d always wanted to visit . The west of Scotland gave what Scotland gives ; a decent lashing by wild winds and plenty rain . But at least such weather keeps the midges down . Better perhaps to be soaked than scratching ?
As we rode across Skye , and pulled in at
Taking a stroll on Harris
Sligachan , memories came back again . Of dropping off Sgurr nan Gillean at sunset after a solo traverse of the Cuillin Ridge , looking forward to a celebration pint in the hotel . Of being stuck for three days in a tiny tent with a 6ft 5in friend , on the shores of Lake Coruisk . I wasn ’ t aware until then that he was an avid trainspotter and , despite my show of disinterest , he bored me day and night with stories of this engine and that shunter from Penzance to Perth .
Both a lobster �isherman on Barra and a bookbinder on Uist bemoaned the barriers of Brexit . As Mark said to me , Britain is the only country to have voted to impose economic sanctions on itself . There was , on this visit home , a sense of some decay and much despondency . A circus led by a clown played out daily in the media .
But there is hope , there is always hope . I left Australia days after we had deposed our own climate change denier and liar and installed a government that gave us hope . Hope for real action on climate change by a country long considered a laggard , hope for real action for our First Nations people , hope for integrity .
I write this back in my house in the Snowy Mountains of Australia on the morning I read of a cascade of cabinet resignations in the UK , of rats leaving the sinking ship . By the time this is published things may be very different there . There is hope for a place still so very dear to my heart . A place that gave me my love of the mountains , the rivers , the rocks . It may no longer be Great Britain but it sure is still beautiful Britain . It was good to come back . www . huwkingston . com
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