I'll put the photos in next week.

Friday I drove up to the farm -- the weather was terrible on the way up, with some heavy rain. But further north it cleared, and then round about Aviemore, it suddenly became very warm. When I got to the farm it was sunny, a beautiful day. No-one was home -- though a neighbour was there picking dandelions for his peacocks. Bertie and I walked round to Ruallan, where John and Andrew were putting up a new fence.

There's a whole long saga about Ruallan, which I won't go into now. Suffice to say there are two houses on the property -- one owned by Andrew's aunty and the other by a couple who've just bought it. The husband was there with his two spaniels and Bertie had a run with them. I don't think we did anything that night, just had dinner and talked, went for walks, that kind of thing.

Next day we also went for walks -- after Andrew had finished his farm chores we went to the machair east of Nairn, a lovely stretch of salt flats sprinkled with flowers. Bertie spent a lot of time chasing oystercatchers; I guess they were decoying him away from their nests, because they flew low and just fast enough to stay a little ahead of him. He was so sure he could catch them he ran and ran and ran, poor thing.

Saturday night, what did we do? I can't remember. It stays light up there until 11pm or so. I think we goofed around in the garden -- was that the day Andrew mowed the lawn? I think we also went back to Ruallan, and Andrew's aunt was there this time. She took me off into her house and plied me with grapefruit squash and chocolate biscuits, showed me prints of some of her paintings, which are in hospitals all around the world.

Whoops, it's time to go home. No time to tell you about going to see Spider-man, or the grand tour of the new house at Rehiran Beag, which will have to be renamed because it's anything but beag; or about Ed and Lou and the baby and their pictures of canoeing on Lewis; or going out to dinner at the Cawdor Tavern with cousin Grace and Ed's parents; driving up to Drynachan to gawp at the fancy-pants summer cottages where the famous stay; or driving madly back south in time for work.

I'll update again next week.