I’m sitting in a lodge with stunning views of Great Britain’s largest lake (by surface area) while I gird today’s literary loins. My accommodation’s proximity to Loch Lomond, along with it’s luxurious design and decor making this just about the apt choice I could’ve made as a location for a serene break.
The view from my bedroom window of this waterfront parks scenic grounds, the still loch water, along with the rolling lowland hills on the horizon, forming the most beautiful aspect I’ve ever opened curtains to at reveille.
Tired after a four hour journey from my Friday night stop-off point of Dumfries, I arrived at this Stirlingshire/Dunbartonshire border residence at around 3.30pm on Saturday. This fatigue lifting markedly, though, upon witnessing the sights of such enchanting beauty which surround this delightful domain.
The panoramic aspect at my disposal leading to me poetically compare the consequential uplift in spirits to the Arthurian verve experienced when presented with Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake. Legend decreeing, a juncture in history where he took over the mantle of England’s king.
In my metaphor, knowing I’d four nights as a resident in this serene and luxurious locale making me (no matter how briefly) feel like a Scottish king…… Unlike Arthur, I’ve no round table, but I’ve a round hot tub at my disposal, and that’ll do for me thank you very much Guinevere.
Although perhaps my right to the Scots throne, even in metaphor, is/was as questionable as the Arthurian legend. Maybe peasant Dennis in Monty Python’s The Holy Grail words also apply to me when he poured scorn on Arthur’s credentials as king. Telling him:- “Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.”
After a Korean spiced chicken dish for Saturday dinner, which I procured from M&S Food in Glasgow on the journey, I retired to spend an hour in the aforementioned hot tub. Here I was further wiled by the landscape greeting these lucky, but fading, middle-age eyes. Laying in the restorative water, I concluded all was right with the world.
If I had any troubles, yours truly mulled, I should pack them up in my old kit bag and smile, smile, smile as George Henry Powell advocated in his 1915 WWI marching song. After all, the luxury I was being afforded at this juncture was the very antithesis of the starkness those poor fellows being encouraged to ‘grin and bear it’ had to endure. They could’ve only dreamed of such a utopian existential landscape which was laid before me.
Later today (Sunday) I’m booked aboard a thirty minute recreational Cessna seaplane flight. A journey scheduled to fly from the other side of Loch Lomond towards the south west Atlantic coast of Scotland; prior to landing half an hour later back on loch water.
I’m going to conclude this second part of my 2021 Scotland trip journal. I’ve things to do, most pressingly catching a Cessna seaplane flight.
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