This was the day on which we left Contin and started heading back down south again. We arose around 7.40, breakfasted, packed, said our goodbyes to the landlady and got on our way.
We stopped in Inverness to visit a postbox (Pauline wanted to get a letter posted in the hope that it might reach her parents before she did), and to refuel. We then continued on our way, taking the route along the southern shore of Loch Ness on a slower but more scenic B road, originally another of General Wade's military roads.
We stopped briefly at a viewpoint in the hills above the loch (by this point the road no longer follows the shore), before continuing on our way, down a long steep descent into Fort Augustus.
Unfortunately at this point we ran into further problems with the car. Towards the bottom, Pauline noticed the smell of something hot, which proved to be coming from around the offside front brakes, rather worrisome. We left things to cool down a bit, Richard meanwhile demonstrating once again his expertise in removing wheels, and eventually decided it was reasonable to continue into Fort Augustus but to find a garage and get it checked.
This we did, a quick glance convincing the mechanic that there was no problem other than the brakes getting a little too hot. Upon later inspection back at Farnham, my father found the brakes to be fine, his theory being that the brakes aren't used to getting any harsh use and that they tend to build up a layer of dirt, which may well have been burning off on our descent.
Pauline had gone to buy some food for lunch in Fort Augustus while Richard and I got the wheel seen to, so we continued on our way, keeping an eye open for a possible place to stop for lunch. We did so beside Loch Oich, attempting to eat outside, but a strong wind led to a minor accident involving Richard's drink glass, so we did not hang around too long.
We continued along the A82, passing Loch Lochy, the last of the three main inland lochs of the Great Glen, through Fort William, past Ben Nevis, across the Ballachulish Bridge (bypassing the old Ballachulish Ferry, mentioned in song on one of Pauline's tapes) and to Glen Coe.
We parked by the visitors' centre, which contained a small exhibition on the mountains of Scotland in which to pass the time while awaiting the next showing of their audio-visual presentation on the Glencoe Massacre.
The Massacre took place in February 1692. The King wished to pacify the Highland Clans and demanded that they should sign a treaty, otherwise action would be taken against him. The head of the MacDonalds of Glencoe was rather stubborn, but eventually set out to go and sign, only to find himself obstructed by petty bureaucracy and general awkwardness, causing him to fail to meet the deadline and the government to use a technicality to forcibly suppress the Clan.
Soon after, government troops under the command of Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon were billeted with the MacDonalds, under the rules of Highland hospitality they were well cared for. Early in the morning of 13 February, however, the soldiers attacked their hosts, killing 38 men, women and children, and forcing many more out into the surrounding hills in the midst of bitter weather --- many more were to perish in the blizzards.
We continued on our way south, through some beautiful Highland countryside. Our accommodation for the night was arranged in Carrbridge, in the heart of ``Rob Roy Country'', but having plenty of time to spare we took a detour on the so-called ``Trossachs Trail'', around Loch Vennachar.
We stopped halfway round at the visitors' centre in Queen Elizabeth Forest Park, looking briefly at the rather kiddie-oriented display and then taking a brief walk around outside, on a similarly kiddie-oriented path, full of educational signs about the forest and so on.
We continued on to Callander, went up to our rooms on the top floor, and rested for a while before heading out in search of dinner. Nowhere stood out as being particularly outstanding, so we settled on the Waverley Hotel, passable but hardly outstanding. I had a venison casserole, followed by some of ``Ma Scott's Millennium Pudding'', which turned out to be a sort of fruit sponge thing in custard. Quite what the millennium connection was I could not fathom, perhaps Mr Mandelson had been to visit.
Some amusement was provided over dinner in the form of Pauline completely messing up the much-quoted adage, ``time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana''. Her version unwittingly came out as, ``time flies like a banana, fruit flies like a bat''. I made a mental note of this to add to my collection of quotations to adorn the bottom of my e-mails.
We returned to the guesthouse after dinner, finding that we'd missed a shower of rain (a sign of things to come), and went to bed around 10.30.