A Day Off
What a great day for a day off. The skies over Inverness were clear and blue and from the window of our front room we could see the snow-frosted mounds of Ben Wyvis and the dormant greenery of the Black Isle.
We packed the Zedettes off to school and set off for Croy. Mrz Z had heard tell of a man who does wonders with pine furniture and we wanted to have a poke around his workshop and seek his wise advice on coffee tables. We turned off the southbound A9 and followed a long single-track road until we came to a farmhouse. There we found a little room stocked with a couple of bookcases and two photo-albums depicting various bits and pieces that had been made for previous seekers of the hard stuff.
Nothing, it has to be said, took our fancy, but having come all this way it felt rude to leave quickly. Until, that is, I suggested we head back to Inverness for a slap-up lunch. Mrz Z was in the car before I could add the words "my treat" but she doesn't really need to hear me verbalise such things. She's a bit psychic.
Our spur of the moment plan was to try out a new restaurant on the banks of the Ness called The Kitchen. It's creating a bit of a stir because it's housed in a sparkling new glass and steel structure that sticks out like a new-born baby's thumb next to the closed-down bingo hall and that place that sells kilts and whisky to tourists.
But here's a tip; never approach such restaurants from the side alley that leads from the adjoining street. Such alleys are clearly the haunt of irresponsible dog-walkers who wouldn't know a Pooper Scooper if I bludgeoned them to death with one (a recurring fantasy). I had already lost my appetite by the time the waitress told us off for not having booked a table and sent us on our way.
No worries...the banks of the Ness now have more cafes and restaurants than, well, they used to have.
If only they sold coffee tables too.
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