Day 8

Well here we are in the second week of our trip already.
New Lanark, is cold in the morning, yet we are blessed with blue skies and sunshine.
We race across the Cumbrian hills, towards Carrington. Where, I hear you ask? Carrington, the well known birthplace of that illustrious clan, Clan Monfries.
Carrington is a small village with one church, a Tardis and a post-box. The village church has no Monfries in the grave yard, though I suspect we were too poor to even be buried. I can trace the family back to Carrington around 1650’s or thereabouts, however I think they were poor working folk, known as serfs. If only we had invented the serf board things might have been much different.
As our night’s accommodation is Stirling, we head in that direction. What we have done over the past two days is a drive a figure 8 with Edinburgh at the top.
Anyway, Stirling is our destination. The Stirling Castle is closed off to cars as it is the finishing point of the Scottish Car Rally today. We have to go to a park and drive about 4 km away and get the bus in.
The Park and Drive man tells us the YHA is about 200m from the castle and we can probably park there, so back in the car, and sure enough, it IS 200 m from the castle.
We walk up, and the views are tremendous out over the Forth River. The YHA is in the old town, all within walking distance.
Morning tea is at a pub near the entrance to the castle. The bar maid is Scottish who worked in Adelaide for a while and has friends from there.
The castle is pretty good with ramparts and minor turrets and is currently being restored back to its original form when it was the royal seat for the kings of Scotland.
It was also the base of the Argyle & Sutherland Highlanders, a Scottish regiment of some note. They have an interesting museum in the castle. It is their headquarters still.
It’s starting to rain so we head off down the hill. On a tourist brochure I had noticed a bagpipe maker was in the old town, so we stop by his shop. The door is open, though the lights are off. We go in and a young man i.e. 40-ish comes out and apologises for the lights being off. We chat about bagpipes etc. He has worked in Adelaide for a couple of years, 1991, cleaning the windows on the State Bank. Lived at Morphettville. He now repairs and makes bagpipes for people all over the world, though his primary source is local, of course. We leave thanking him for being open, and he tells us he wasn’t, he had just popped in to clean up and get away from a children’s birthday party. Lucky us.
The old town is, well old. Cobble stoned streets, granite buildings, an old jail, spelled jail. That’s next to the HA and next to that is an old hosipital. Next to that is the Church of the Holy Rude.
We have yet to find the Church to the Partly Rude however we are still looking. For a brief moment, I thought I had found my religion. Turns out it is the church where James the something was crowned King of Scotland. Or was that Charles. James I think.
Part of the castle tour is a tour of Argyle House, the home of the Viscount of Argyle, and it has been restored back to how it was in the 1600’s. Various important people have stayed there over the years, James II of England, to name the only one I can remember. My head is full of too much history from today. It was all James’s and Charles’s and Marys and a variety of one’s, two’s and three’s. There might have even been an eight or two. Either way the place is awash with history and well worth a visit.
The YHA is new behind the facade of an old church. Rather sterile, yet comfortable. It overlooks Stirling and has great views. It has a touch shower, and I am fearful of it already, as I cannot see how to control the temperature. I fear for my bits, as that’s the direction it is pointed and fixed.
We walk through the old town, down town, literally down, under the castle. A number of eating houses beckon, however we settle for the Carn Exchange that premises cold beer.
We are seated in a booth next to an “statue” iron nude of a lady reading a book with her overall anatomy like an anatomy book, all sinews and muscles and bones. She is well endowed.
The background music is very poor cover versions of well-known songs.
The wine is Chilean Shiraz, and not too bad. Not brilliant either, better than the stuff we has at Kirby Stephen however.
It is only on the way out I realise there is a similar male figure, to the aforementioned female one, near the front entrance, who would put most men to shame. He is also reading a book. Perhaps I should read more?
Tomorrow Edinburgh, via the William Wallace Memorial.