Midgetastic

OK, so what we want to know at this point is: just how stupid are midges? For one thing, what is the evolutionary advantage to midges in having humans hate them so much? If they were smart, they would make the experience of biting us pleasant, so that we wouldn't bend our every effort into destroying or at least repelling them. And for another, if they are so dependent on blood, why exist in their billions in a place where almost no-one lives, instead of, say, Derby? Anyhow, our timing is pretty rubbish, because they're swarming in Biblical plague numbers at the moment, and the locals are talking about them in the way the English talk about the weather.

We, on the other hand, are talking about Mohamed Al-Fayed, or Al-'Mc'Fayed as we should properly call him. Eh? Well, as we're bowling along on the road to Lairg, we decide to make an impromptu stop at the Falls of Shin, which the brown signs have down as a beauty spot. We rock up to discover that it's an estate owned by the Harrods and Fulham FC magnate, in which he has installed a restaurant, crazy golf course and, well, car park, to support an essentially boring minor set of rapids, the like of which you could see in any highland river. In the shop is the most incongruous sight - a Tussauds waxwork of McFayed himself, in full Scottish regalia, having his crotch sniffed by a dog. It's right up there with Listerine woman (see blogs passim) as a contender for the top bizarre moment of the trip.

Enough already. Onwards through Lairg, and onto truly deserted territory. The A836 may be the only single track A road in Britain, and it goes through moorland that has an austere bleakness about it that commands respect. We stop to take in the silence from time to time, and it deepens the sense of awe. There is one tiny pub on the road, the Crask Inn, where Tom stopped on his previous walk and the couple that run it put him up overnight even though they were already full. They aren't there today sadly, and after a pint, we are on our way to our stop for the night, the small hamlet of Altnaharra, home to 33 hardy souls, including our B&B hosts Mandy and Lindsay, a couple of emigres from Oxfordshire. The welcome is as warm as the landscape is dour, and we enjoy a fabulous meal along with Alan, a regular customer who works the land as a forester. As pre-penultimate evenings go, it couldn't be bettered.