Return to Eigg
There wasn't much chat on the ferry back to Mallaig - the drones of the lone-piper having been long since drowned out by the pulsating hum of the Cal Mac's engines. These had also taken their meditative effect on our sun kissed and tired bodies as people stared at the skyline. It very much reminded you of being in a car as a small child: resistance to relaxation was almost futile. Our eyes were focused on the ridiculous beauty of the Cuillins, Small Isles and Nevis range which were crystal clear, all around: Tiree and Coll south and fading. Some porpoises popped up after the long legged jelly fish were stealing all the limelight and instigated some chattering amongst the humans. It was the way travelling should be: the polar opposite of sitting in an airport lounge. We also hadn't slept much for the past 3 or 4 days, being either wakened by the warmth of summer, talking to interesting and like minded people late into the night or having waited to hear a really good band. The weariness was certainly for good reason.
La Grande Boucle
Driving down to Penrith I could barely see the car in front of me. I stuck the fog light on at the back, the spray of the road and drizzle making for a thick mist. It had been one of the best June's I can remember - a run that has even continued into July - and I was feeling a little blue for Yorkshire who I knew had gone to town for the big send off over the weekend.