A River Runs Through It
I spotted this headline about graveyard gate stealers while walking through Grantown-on-Spey this afternoon. If you want to know the full story you can click on , but I mention it because it illustrates exactly what I love about visiting small towns and villages.
Take Grantown-on-Spey as an example. It's just over thirty miles from Inverness, but it feels like another world. The architecture is different, the range of shops seem like something from the 1950's and the whole place is just, well, charming.
Yet scratch the surface and you realise all is not as it seems. I mean, who are these people who are nicking gates from graveyards? Are they part of an international fencing operation? Questions need to be asked and where better to start than Chaplins' ice cream parlour where the waiter refers to every customer as "darling" or "sweetheart" regardless of them being man, woman or child. They specialise in "big" stuff at Chaplin. I had an enormous bowl of Scotch broth and, at the counter, spied a slab of caramel shortcake the size of a house brick.
But did anyone there know anything about the graveyward smash 'n' grab. Maybe, but, well, I forgot to ask. As you know, I'm easily distracted by food.
But your theories are welcome.
