After a long long drive to Campbeltown (note to self - only one L in Campbeltown) from Ayr where we stayed last night, we arrived in what appears to be a smallish town - not as pretty as those we past through, but with a harbour and lots of old character.
The GPS led us into town, and then back out into rolling green hillsides. It wasn't long before we were turning left onto a single trackway, and then onto a farm track and to a farm gate, behind which stood many sheep. We felt Betty the GPS had made a mistake, and turned tails back to the road, but no, it seemed she was right, and after asking a neighbour the way, we found ourselves opening the gate, and driving past the flock, spotting one stuck with her front leg wrapped in brambles.
We had a quick look around the cottages, finding ours, a rather tatty, cold and sparsely furnished abode which started to bring back memories of Umbria. It's small - very small - cold, although not as cold as Angelika's place, and tatty - paint peeling from the ceiling in the living space, and in places, 1950s style fixtures and fittings including a one bar electric fire bolted to the wall in the bedrooms.
Tara began to look glum.
But the power was on, there was a kettle, and the local farmer speaks enough English to help us with his tractor is it snows and we need to escape, so it could be worse.
After stopping to tell the farmer about his poor stranded sheep, we stocked up on fine local produce (Tesco's spuds and some chicken wings), cooked ourselves some food, and are currently zonked in front of the telly, re-charging our batteries, and planning tomorrows day out.
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