Right everyone, grab your granny, a woolly hat, balaclava and some fingerless gloves; Nicola has decreed that it’s time for a wee outdoor swallie. On a deck on a hill in a land far, far away there’s a beer waiting for anyone who can travel this far from civilisation without needing inside for a pee.
The fire-pit, ordered last lockdown, has just arrived so coorie roond – if you don’t mind waking up the next day smelling and feeling like you spent the evening at a 1980s, Benson and Hedges theme-night.
We’re West Coast folk, so there’ll be none of that Auld Reekie ‘you’ll have had your tea’ nonsense. We’ll fling a lobster and some prawns on the barbie and through the drizzle and gales we can all pretend we’re partying on Ramsay Street with Scott and Charlene. Let us know when you’re on your way and we’ll wheech up the new prawn creels and lobster pots, and dinner might just be served. Optimism is high now that the boat’s home from her winter holiday. She winters in Tayvallich harbour and then has a couple of spa days getting her summer bodywork done – the marine equivalent of a bikini diet. If only getting the perfect beach body required just a power-hose, some sandpaper and a daub of blue paint…
Last year we left the pampering to the professionals, but lockdown has made us a little bit more self-sufficient so, with the assistance of a neighbour who has the right bits of kit, we winched her out of the loch and set to work primping her underside.
The daft Dane was a great help, manically barking and biting the hose’s spray while we skooshed off a year’s worth of kelp and whelks. Scrubbing brushes and sandpaper followed, then a coating of that ubiquitous baby-blue paint that adorns the nether regions of every vessel you’ve ever seen in a boatyard, on a canal bank or being towed past you on the motorway.
Then, inevitably, a trip to Lochgilphead for turps and meths to fix the brush strokes that had gone awry thanks, in no small part, to the excitement of a dug who sees anyone lying on their back as an open invitation to play.
With more help from the winch-owner we launched her, clean and shiny, back into the loch. There was no minor royalty around to crack a bottle of Peach Concorde off her stern, so the booze stayed safe in the cool-box ready for the next fishing party.
There’s just room enough onboard for Nicola’s six adults from six households, so a wee skoot out to the Sound of Jura is the perfect antidote to lockdown and a pretty good cure for smoke inhalation too. Looks like we have all bases covered for a summer of outdoor, restriction-following fun. Just don’t forget to bring your balaclava.
The Softer Crofter 