Is It Far?

We had arrived in Carradale. A tiny remote spot on the Kintyre peninsula on the West coast of Scotland.

It was shit.

There was nothing for miles.

It has rained non stop since we arrived.

The only advantage to this was that whilst it rained you couldn't smell the cowshit which hung heavily over the hills.

At the local post office, which was literally a shack in the woods, I had asked the owner if the beach was far from our cottage.

It isn't far.

He had said in a broad Northern English accent.

I asked for directions as all we could see were trees and clouds of biting horse flies.

Which seemed to love nibbling on me which I took fairly stoically thinking that perhaps it was a compliment on my penis.

Right guys. It's not far.

I said to the family who were sheltered under an old toppled tree.

Like fools, they followed as I led them to the beach which was not far.

At first there were handy steps and rails as we traipsed through the dense forest.

But about ten minutes in as we followed a vague dirt path, all that helpful shit ended.

Another ten minutes walking and we started nearing the summit of the giant hill we had been climbing.

The trees were very straight.

As we forged our way through a stream, the kids found newts.

I fought a savage urge to kill them all, tie them in a chain by their tails and wear them like a crown of thorns, Jesus style.