Aberfeldy

The birds are battling, who can sing the loudest. It’s 5.00a.m. and I’ve played musical beds.
On Thursday we drove to Stanstead airport. Dropped the car off and boarded a flight to Edinburgh. Picked up a hire car and drove 72 miles to Aberfeldy, a lovely little town on the way to Inverness. The landscape was the colour of a very fancy tweed jacket.
We arrived at 8.30 just in time for the last dinner order at The Townhouse Hotel. The decor was the colour of a very fancy tartan kilt.
Then into No 7, a crisp room with a bed throw the colour of the Highlands.
We watched the local elections, I fell asleep and dreamt I was perfectly well. When I awoke I had to check that the miracle hadn’t taken place. It hadn’t but it was a deliciously prophetic dream.
We had truffle oil scrambled egg on Aberfeldy bread, left the car in the hotel car-park and set off to the Scottish Doctor. if we hadn’t have bumped into the local postman we would still be looking for him.
Jumped into the car and drove out of town, past the caravan park but not as far as the Distillery, under a railway arch, and there was the tall Canadian sitting in his window. His long haired crossbred wolf met us at the gate.
After one and a quarter hours I left the surgery with a glimmer of hope. It seems that over the last six months, my body has gone into full time war mode. This organ fighting that and that organ not knowing how to fight back. The long and the short of it is that slowly, with the help of the gentle doctor, I should be able to get well again.
I still await the results of two MRI scans, and I fully expect to have more pipes inserted where the sun don’t shine, but for the first time in 6 months there may be an answer to the pain.
We left his house and Jim wandered round the distillery. We set off, observing the Scottish speed limits and dropped the car off at the airport.
‘What time is our flight?’ I enquired of the ‘oosbind.
‘Don’t know love.’ He said nonchalantly. Took out the flight schedule. The gates closed at 1.55. It was 1.49.
So begun the quickest dash to the gates that the airport had ever seen. Himself running with a heavy bag, me running with a heavy heart. Dodging lazy tourists, a slalom through bags and baggage. My bag was re-routed to the security man.
‘Are you carrying liquids?’ he asked accusingly.
‘I don’t think so.’ I said – given the state of my adrenals I started to sob.
He took out a little bottle of scent and a pot of Nivea. Clearly I was carrying liquids and clearly he was thrilled at his discovery. If he had been a snail he could have not gone any slower. He let me off. We ran to Gate 3A. The gates should have closed fifteen minutes before but thanks to Easy Jet everything was held up and the long line of cheap travellers was still winding round the block.
We had made it, by the skin of our teeth.
The journey back was easy, the pick up was easy, The journey home was hassle free and we arrived back at the cottage at 5.45.
The trip was done and dusted and I was looking at a pain free future. Inevitably on Friday night I had a melt down, the pain was not going to go away immediately and what if his course of action didn’t work.
The white wolf had lay next to me in the treatment room, gently snoozing, I had to believe that she knew better than I.
Saturday and Sunday was full of sun, and I even managed to mow the lawn. I even managed to do the washing. I even managed to eat something. We had surprise visitors who were shocked at my weight loss. I’m on the inside so I still feel the same, but my mowing shorts did hang a little loosely round the non existent nether regions.
So now at 5.21a.m. I start a new week. I have to take various supplements and remain positive.
I have a meeting scheduled for June so I’m now believing I can and will and am better.
I met Ros at Plawhatch organic shop. She used her pendulum and talked to her son who lives in another realm. If her dousing works all is well, if it doesn’t it was still lovely sitting in the sunshine drinking raw chocolate with her.
I’m going back to bed, although I don’t fancy my chances of sleep as the birds are babbling, chuckling, whistling and shouting the odds. I may just get into a bath and dream of Scotland.