On Saturday morning we left for a dirty weekend in Wick. I drove the first hundred miles, popped the brake in Inverness, and then the wife took over the reins for the final hundred. We had dinner that evening in Mackays Hotel which is on the shortest street in the world - Ebenezer Place. Honestly, ask the Guinness Book of Records. It’s not much longer than I am.
We then took a jaunt out to John o’ Groats. We had already driven two hundred and ten miles; another sixteen was nothing. And that wooden sign with the arrow pointing to Lands End? Private property. Yeah, that’s right. You can’t just walk up to it and get your mugshot taken. Somebody has to actually get the sign and plant it, and then you’re charged seven quid for the privilege. Capitalism, eh?
Fortunately there is a fake replica sign painted on a wall which is free, and in the true Scottish tradition I didn’t let that opportunity pass by.