16th December 2002

Dear All,

You could be forgiven for thinking I have been suffering tennis elbow, RSI or a severe case of writer’s cramp, so long is it since I have put fingers to keyboard. You could also be relieved not to have to relive any exciting recent episodes of life at Mor Carraig, but I thought, well it is Christmas and my readers are probably longing to catch up on any recent events, yeah right!

Its’ been a mixed year for our family. Mor Carraig is going strong and our visitors total this year has been tremendous, with some lovely comments in our visitor book. Thankyou one and all. However down in deepest Essex I have lost a dear Aunt to a lengthy illness, preventing jaunts to our beloved Scotland.  To relieve this sadness though, we had the good news that our eldest daughter has become engaged to Daniel. They had been courting (that means ‘seeing’ to you younger folk) for two years. We had dropped hints and propped open magazines about rings or ‘How to organise the perfect wedding’ but to no avail. We gave up, and then he proposed on my birthday, ahhhh! So we hadn’t gained a son in our house, but we are, finally losing a daughter, and we couldn’t be more delighted.

The wedding will most likely take place next November or December, and will be around the Edinburgh area making it easier for the guests to get to. We did suggest a marquee in the paddock at Mor Carraig. The slope really wouldn’t be that much of a problem. The chair legs could be shortened on one side, and we would all get exercise running down the floor and mountaineering back up again. High heels would make good crampons and falling down drunk would have new meaning. This is not to be, and she wisely opted for a reception in a castle. The brochures are coming in thick and fast and look wonderful, luckily for her Dad and I, most can’t seat more than a hundred, so it looks very much as though we will escape bankruptcy.

We booked ourselves in for a week at the cottage, the weeks were filling fast so we had to get in while we could. Our good friends and neighbours in Essex, and fellow Scots originally from nearby Evanton, were joining us for a few days and also house hunting in the area. We were also hosting a barbecue for some friends from over the hill, I did say from not just over. Well let me tell you what a riotous afternoon/evening that was. Their son Sam dropped them off, just as well I think, because later we managed to fill the local bottle bank entirely by ourselves, tch tch. Sam, on his return to pick them up, was not quite certain whether to disown them or hold the occasion in reserve should he have to remind them of it when next he needed a favour. Needless to say we were not up exactly bright and early for the first of our house hunting forays, finally making it out of the door by midday. Our first stop was Kilmuir, over the Kessock Bridge and hang a right. The house although nice afforded none of the required ‘scenic views’ so we drove on until we came out of the wooded area to find the missing view, and what a view it was, far out over the Moray Firth, the Kessock bridge to the right and coastline reaching out to sea on the left. Also there was a lovely old graveyard, don’t think me ghoulish but there is something about wandering round a graveyard. Even though we knew no inhabitants, we read the inscriptions and revelled in the peace and sunshine of our surroundings. There was a ruin in the middle, most likely the original church, but long since sadly forgotten. It still however, managed to summon up some dignity, and wore its garland of multi coloured wild flowers with pride. 

Reluctantly we left the magic of that place to seek out lunch, I know eating again, well were on holiday. As we had Munros with us, the Storehouse, previously called Clanland at Evanton, was a frequent stopover for us. It houses as well as an excellent restaurant and shop (considering I’m a MacDonald I believe I am being very fair and magnanimous here) a museum mostly telling the story of the Clan Munro who dominate the local area of Evanton, and whose Clan seat Foulis castle is nearby. There’s a story about the castle coming up. Suitable imbibing took place of homemade soup, smoked salmon sandwiches and yes you’ve guessed, a glass of wine. Us girlies had a quick fix of shopping in the gift shop, and the men paid the bill, totally fair. The next house to view was nearby, a rather grand affair with six bedrooms set in two acres and beautifully situated overlooking the Cromarty Firth. Half a mile down, the road comes to a dead end, quite literally as it turned out because it was the site of another graveyard, this time many of the stones bore the name Munro so were undoubtedly kinsmen of our friends. This time Irene voiced that although beautifully maintained, she was unsure whether she wanted to live quite so close to family when they were dead, anymore than she did with the living variety. Also six bedrooms was a tad large for a holiday home, and wasn’t sure that our idea of continuing with the B&B as it was currently run was not really her idea of fun. As we drove back beside the shoreline we spied an elderly man taking his two shire horses complete with harness for a walk in the shallows. We had to stop and watch this magnificent sight of jingling reins and huge hooves splashing through the water, what majestic creatures they are. We took photos and the man waved, pleased that we had stopped to admire his charges.  Well by this time of course we were hungry again, there was still meat left from the barbecue, so we decided a repeat was necessary to finish up, and yes of course we needed to wash it down!

Now Robert and Irene being keen members of their clan, had previously during the summer attended the Clan Gathering at Foulis castle. There they renewed their acquaintance with Hector Munro, the chief and his mother Timmy, widow of the previous chief. Timmy had kindly lent them some books and photos helping them with their ongoing family tree research. They wanted to return these, and as we were on our way to Golspie literally passing the door of Foulis, asked if we could stop off. Driving up the long driveway to Foulis and sweeping up by the front door, you couldn’t do anything but sweep, was a little awe inspiring for Rod and I.  I do quite fancy a castle in Scotland, one that looks romantically like those in Disney fairytales would be ideal. Actually reasonably affordable when comparing the prices in Scotland to those in my area in Essex, you never know I might get there one day!!! Anyway we swept, they alighted, and we and Hamish settled down for a doze in the sunshine. Five minutes later Irene appeared, Timmy insists you come in, what us?  Oh okay then. We couldn’t get up the steps fast enough. Foulis isn’t grand like say Windsor might be, but it is definitely a castle. High ceilings, large fireplaces and huge portraits of previous chiefs. Furniture weighted down with crested china and sumptuous chairs that were in the shabby chic category. We were introduced to Timmy and told to wander around the room as we wished, whilst Robert, Irene and she finished their business. We couldn’t help notice photos of the late Queen Mother, personally signed, one with Timmy’s family and one by herself on the steps at Foulis, illustrious company this. Timmy saw us looking and said she used to pop in most years for lunch, as you do, on the way up to Castle Mey. Impressed, most certainly, it reminded me of the words “I danced with the man who danced with the girl who danced with Prince of Wales”. I’ve probably lost half of you here and shown my age. Would we like her to show us round the castle she asked, would we ever! Timmy is a splendour, she has so much character and her love for her ancestry and the castle is self evident.  Recounting stories as we moved around, she has that quality which holds you in the spell of the moment, and chuckling at her anecdotes. Two hours whizzed by, and we thanked her profusely as we left, for giving us so much of her time. That lady is undoubtedly one of the priceless treasures of Foulis. Before we reached Golspie we passed through more Munro territory at Evanton. Naturally there’s a little museum here dedicated to you know who (no not Valdemort, lost you again?) It’s run voluntarily by a legion of local ladies, one of whom pounced on us as we entered. Presumably we were the first vic eh visitors of the day, and she was keen to impart her knowledge, particularly to fellow Munro’s. The little place was stuffed full with local information and hundreds of photographs from bygone Evanton, even Rod and I found it really interesting. Margaret kindly bought us tea and homemade airy fairy cakes, all free of charge “just to keep us going”. Bless her, we duly signed her visitor book and left a nice donation towards the upkeep. It was never asked for or expected, but such a service to the community, cheerfully run by volunteers deserves thanks and recognition of our appreciation.

Eventually we made it to Golspie, via lunch at the Dornoch Links Hotel. It was a light lunch this time, only one glass of wine. We gave Hamish a run on the beach there, it’s one of his favourites. It did us all good to let the wind blow the cobwebs away and walk off some of that food do I hear the murmured. We were in Golspie to return some photo albums to Roberts’ cousin, borrowed to further the research into the Munro family tree. Again we were invited in and asked to join them for tea and biscuits, I could feel my trouser button protesting, but it’s rude to refuse isn’t it?

Robert and Irene’s last day saw us house hunting again this time to Beauly, which is just over the hill from us. House prices as you probably know, have risen phenomenally this year. Scotland in the past has not been vastly affected by the vagaries of the housing market, prices have always been steady and lower than the south, that is until now. Properties are selling like the proverbial hotcakes, with good ones going in days and achieving vastly over their “offers over” starting price. In fact in can be quite misleading to see the “offers over” price quoted at for instance £75000, when it actually achieved around £120,000 as happened recently with a neighbour of mine. Of course you cannot be gazumped in theory as the offers go to the agent via an unseen sealed bid, with one lucky buyer free to progress unthreatened. Very good, but the starting prices are often unrealistically low so more prospective buyers vie to outbid one another for their dream house, with the resulting price achieved being much greater than the number it started at, not so good. So here we were in Beauly, or above it actually in the Resaurie area which is on the hillside overlooking both Beauly and in the distance the river leading to the Beauly Firth, the Kessock Bridge and beyond. Absolutely in the ‘scenic view’ category and the house looked very nice, two ticks. The owner opened the door, they went in and we crossed our fingers.  Time passed, surely a good sign, they came back smiling, could this be the one. Uh uh, the owners have just accepted an offer this morning Robert was saying and they had given their word. There was however another piece of land just a little further down the hill which had views, and outline planning permission with the design yet to be decided, now this looked promising. We were to follow by car, the lady owner down the hill and she would show us the plot. Literally just below her house was a large field, which she left us to look over. Climbing over the fence we walked halfway up the field and turned, the view was stunning, equally as good as the house above, and with the advantage of designing exactly what you wanted. A done deal as long as the price is right, Robert and Irene we could see were as convinced as we were that this would be a great opportunity. I would like to tell you that the new house is half built and they will be moving in shortly after the New Year but I can’t. All is not lost, they still want to buy, the owners still want to sell, but for tax reasons can’t do so for a year, which would be about September 2003. So we will carry on keeping an eye out for anything promising coming onto the market, but the plot on the hill is definitely where the heart is.

Dunain Park Hotel

The Last Supper before our friends left saw us once again down at the Dunain Park Hotel, which is quite near to Mor Carraig on the A82 back towards Inverness. We were to be Robert and Irene’s guests, a thankyou from them for our hospitality. We are very fond of the Dunain Park, it has become a family custom to have dinner there every Christmas Eve as a prelude to Christmas. Robert the owner is a great host, he has a great knowledge of wine and the menu has excellent choice. So much so we take ages to make up our minds as it all sounds, and is delicious. We sat around the fire in the cosy sitting room with the menus and a glass of champagne, heavenly. It was a great evening and a nice end to our guests stay, I don’t think they wanted to go, just as we are always reluctant to return home to Essex. The pace of life suits us, they don’t have the M25, and people still have time for people.

Waving goodbye Robert and Irene disappeared into the depths of Inverness Airport after we dropped them off the next morning. We had enjoyed having them, and it gave us the excuse to wander around the countryside relaxing, eating and yes yes drinking. Without them we would never have met Timmy or been shown personally around Foulis Castle, and that was a great memory. Now however we had a couple days of jobs to do before we also trundled back down the motorway. We were expecting a builder up to the cottage, to quote for some major work on the conservatory, this to be carried out at the end of the season in November. The poor old conservatory which was already in situ when we bought Mor Carraig and is a great asset to the cottage, is really showing its age. A wooden structure that we’d found had never been finished properly, although we had done our best by it, was rotting quite badly. In addition the seals separating the double glazing were not stopping moisture entering and as such resulted in misty panes of glass marring our precious view of the loch. The builder was going to replace everything, except the roof which was sound, with UPVC windows and doors above a brick and harled (traditional external coating) lower wall which would be thickly insulated to keep in the warmth. This would make a tremendous difference for us during our winter stays, and for our visitors who come early and late in the year.  David Mckie was the brother of the notorious ‘Mick the Dig’, readers will know that name from earlier episodes of my diary, a good reference surely. Sucking on the requisite pencil, he took measurements and discussed what was to be done, no problems were envisaged although the proposed ‘jacking’ up of the roof to knock down the rest sounded a bit hairy, but then I’m not a builder. I’m quite excited about it all, sad aren’t I?

The rest of the week whizzed past. Have you ever noticed when you are on Holiday the first few days pass quite slowly, you think good I still have x amount of days left. Then suddenly they are all gone and you are repacking again, can’t just be me it happens to surely.  So in a blur of getting logs in for winter, strimming the long grass in the wild garden and weed killing the driveway, seeing Howard and Angie our invaluable housekeeper and gardener and a hundred other little jobs we were indeed repacking our bags to go home. Hamish always gets worried at this point, as all the things start going back into the car he is constantly under your feet should you forget to pack him, as if! The cottage is busy now until the end of season which is wonderful, and then we will be back to admire and pay for our new conservatory in November, and then it will be Christmas, yippee!

So I would like to thank all my readers for reading, and all my visitors for visiting, and wish you all a wonderful Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year