Oh dearie, dearie me, only in Great Britain. What an embarrassment. There we were at the Inversnaid Hotel, the halfway point of today's 14-miler. It had seemed a little gloomy when stumbling our way to the bar from the 'walkers' entrance' at the back, and it was the little old Welsh lady guest huddled by the fire who first told us that there was a power cut and that hot lunches were off. OK, merde happens. So we weren't going to get omelette, burger or haddock to keep out the cold. That's fine; we all get power cuts.
However, has anyone any idea why a power cut prevents the preparation of a cheese roll, ham sandwich or tuna baguette? No. Nor have I. Would you think it odd to be flatly and curtly refused a bag of crisps on the grounds of power loss? A Mars Bar perhaps? Same argument. The reason: "All our crisps and confectionery are in vending machines". No power, no vending. Would it perhaps be beyond the wit of man to go to the stockroom and retrieve a case of crisps or choccie bars, open the thing and sell me my heart's desire from said carton? Apparently it would, yes. Customer after customer was sent away hungry. Only 7 more miles through deepening snow before another opportunity to take fuel on board.
I'll leave you, dear reader, to judge whether I will be returning or recommending The Inversnaid Hotel to my chums. For those of you wondering whether the concept of hospitality might have slipped a touch in the modern age, it has.
The day was quite demanding. Fourteen miles is not a particularly long way, but much of the middle section of today was, in effect, scrambling. Over tree roots, boulders, loose rocks and fallen trunks, many of such hazards disguised by fresh snow. There were some tired feet around long before the end at the unique Drovers Inn at Inverarnan, which we didn't reach until gone 6 p.m. A gorgeous haggis - massive portion - put things right.
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