Well, it's holiday time once again and Malc and I are on a camping holiday on the scowling face of West Scotland.
As ever, I shall be reporing back on my antics and this year's focus is on recession hit businesses and their efforts to diversify in these times of economic hardship.
So, on Sunday, fortified with a warming mug of slippery elm, we set out from the campsite along the cliff path to the town of Mallaig where Norman Dickie has been running The Saratoga Trunk Cowboy Bar for the past 10 years.
Times have been tough, Norman told us, citing swingeing health and safety regulations proscribing activities involving the use of bullwhips and other assorted weaponry.
In the face of this adversity, Norman has invested in a sideshow with which he tours local fetes and fayres. As luck would have it, the annual sheep fair was due to take place that very afternoon and we were invited along to experience Norman's new sideline in action.
After spending some time wandering among the fete's various stalls and marquees, we found ourselves in a tent observing the tallest man in Scotland - a drunk in a kilt spreadeagled on the floor of a makeshift boxing ring littered with empty cans of Youngers Tartan. On staggering to his feet to greet us, he appeared to be only an inch taller than Malc and I. Assuming that this set the standard, We declined the invitation to see the bearded lady thinking that the Brown Owl from our local scout troop would probably be more deserving of the epithet.
At the allotted time for our appointment With Mr Dickie, we found him waiting for us at the entrance of his piece de resistance, a converted Laser Quest dome, with a burly pair of local sheep shearers against whom
we were to pit ourselves in combat.
We were invited to remove our clothes and take the tablets that Norman proffered us. Noticing the distinctive Pfizer brand stamped on said tablets, I enquired as to what the necessity was for such a stimulant.
With a flick of a switch, all was revealed in bright neon lights "The Large Hardon Collider" (excuse me, EO).
The regulars at the Saratoga Trunk love it by all accounts and it keeps the wolf from his door in these hard times. Malc and I declined the offer instead preferring to keep the pills so we could partake in the neighbouring quoit-a-thon.
As ever, I shall be reporing back on my antics and this year's focus is on recession hit businesses and their efforts to diversify in these times of economic hardship.
So, on Sunday, fortified with a warming mug of slippery elm, we set out from the campsite along the cliff path to the town of Mallaig where Norman Dickie has been running The Saratoga Trunk Cowboy Bar for the past 10 years.
Times have been tough, Norman told us, citing swingeing health and safety regulations proscribing activities involving the use of bullwhips and other assorted weaponry.
In the face of this adversity, Norman has invested in a sideshow with which he tours local fetes and fayres. As luck would have it, the annual sheep fair was due to take place that very afternoon and we were invited along to experience Norman's new sideline in action.
After spending some time wandering among the fete's various stalls and marquees, we found ourselves in a tent observing the tallest man in Scotland - a drunk in a kilt spreadeagled on the floor of a makeshift boxing ring littered with empty cans of Youngers Tartan. On staggering to his feet to greet us, he appeared to be only an inch taller than Malc and I. Assuming that this set the standard, We declined the invitation to see the bearded lady thinking that the Brown Owl from our local scout troop would probably be more deserving of the epithet.
At the allotted time for our appointment With Mr Dickie, we found him waiting for us at the entrance of his piece de resistance, a converted Laser Quest dome, with a burly pair of local sheep shearers against whom
we were to pit ourselves in combat.
We were invited to remove our clothes and take the tablets that Norman proffered us. Noticing the distinctive Pfizer brand stamped on said tablets, I enquired as to what the necessity was for such a stimulant.
With a flick of a switch, all was revealed in bright neon lights "The Large Hardon Collider" (excuse me, EO).
The regulars at the Saratoga Trunk love it by all accounts and it keeps the wolf from his door in these hard times. Malc and I declined the offer instead preferring to keep the pills so we could partake in the neighbouring quoit-a-thon.
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