For any of you who may not have read this blog before, worrying about accommodation is my biggest bug-bear. It comes about from the fact that although I have the rudimentary things necessary to camp out, and I persist in carrying them miles and miles on my back, I really, really, no, really, don't want to camp. My main camping accessory is a bivvy bag. Read: a body bag with a tent bottom, a goretex top, which closes with a drawstring, into which you shove the precious things—leaving all the rest outside under your waterproof bag cover, including boots which slugs can walk into for warmth—and then yourself, sleeping bag ensconced. You fashion a pillow from clothing and a beaver (if you have one, pseudo-beaver if not). And you pull the string tight so that only a small hole is left for air, and to allow more slug ingress—won't do to not wake up with slug bits in your hair. It will be cold, damp and no matter how carefully you selected a hidden treasure of an illegal camping spot, two things will happen: there will be rocks, lumps and thistles where it looked amazingly flat, and you will be caught by someone on the morning. This is usually because the night is so miserable that the only sleep you get is when the sun comes up and warms you above temperature frozen. I always sleep in!
We celebrated booking accommodation (especially an expensive alternative to camping tonight) by having coffee and cake before doing any walking. Luckily it was an easy-ish sort of day, and mid afternoon had us in a warm hotel having gins and tonics. Too many. Is that a thing?
Good night to Bridge of Orchy, good night to you.
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