Summary
MONDAY
YOU will be wanting to know where I went on my hols. Ignoring invitations from Russian oligarchs, Italian sex addicts and Saudi arms dealers to join them in their gin palaces, I travelled north to Nairn, which I mistakenly thought I had visited before. A proper scouring of my memory bank revealed this to be Tain, below. Such a mistake may have plunged lesser souls into a slough of despond but not me. Nairn, it transpired, is the bee's knees and the perfect base from which to explore the surrounding lightness and dark. Once I went as far as Forres, which some jobsworth has dubbed "Transition Town". Doubtless it was the same tube who called Embra "Inspiring Capital".See the full content of this document
Extract
Alan Taylor's Week
From what I could see Forres has no need of transition, being perfectly fine as it is.
Between these two perjink burghs, I visited a hostelry which served food of an unpretentious nature usually garnished with chips. The owner was a hyperactive, entrepreneurial Englishman who was eager to encourage me to return. Did I ever eat steak, he enquired in the manner of a doctor asking: "Do you like breathing?" If I was partial to steak M...See the full content of this document
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