Cuan and Ellenabeich (Easdale)

 I am back to driving again after various stints of falling over and being unconscious, and as I was getting a little stressed about the new books, my partials, the joint acquisition and a few other words that seem to have a different meaning in publishing. ( like 'talent' and 'celebrity' !)

The two new publishers wanted a whole new series to conquer the world with and 'my partials' were set up north in a place I've never been as it was the only place in the whole country I could find where nobody was writing about.  There might be two reasons for that 1) there's nobody there 2) there's very little crime and the crime that is there concerns sheep.

But time is moving on. I'd heard my partials were adored (?) last Thursday and a contract was on its way to my agent. And then nothing. So thinking if they want a book by  Christmas, I'd better get my research done. We drove up to Tyndrum and parked Ludwig the Motorhome/mobile writing centre, then took the car up in a loop around those fiddley little  peninsulas on the west coast. We did two, Cuan and Easdale.

This was the height of summer and I was hoping for something like haar. I'm sure that's a Scots word but haar exists elsewhere I'm sure. Technically we only have it on the east coast, it's a cold mist from the sea that rolls in over the land - it has a particular attraction for golf courses I'm told- and it sits there for days on end. Bright sunshine outside, thick as freezing fog inside.

In my book I am having some haar on the west coast. Maybe it's too windy here for the real thing but you can see how handy it would be in a John Carpenter kind of way.

Meanwhile, while driving around the contract arrived by email. Oh very nice!

High street Easdale.

There was an old quarry that I may borrow for the book.

Could this defunct quarry be fictionally turned into a mooring park for tired yachts? The water inside was millpond smooth.

Within minutes this mist descended.

And rolled in to cover daft people going on a small boat to look at the third biggest whirlpool in the world.  

Old guy and dog seeing how bad it would be if a murderer pushed them at this point.

I looked at this and thought of The Thinker.

Very big rock. Very big motorhome ( not ours).

At the Cuan ferry, the next peninsula down, we met a friend.

The Luing ferry. Takes three cars. And the dog.

Old guy making friends with ferry dog

Handsome boy. The way a dog should be, doing his stuff and getting in the way.

Chatting on the main road in Ardfern

Road to nowhere. Huge drop at end, much higher than any tidal rise so presume end of jetty fell off.

Nearer civilisation now.  There's an island in this Sound that I'm stealing.

respect! Look at that mud.

typical house built in rural area  with EU grant funding. No more.

How good were these scones? And huge!

Me and faithful hound composing novel in head.

Old guy thinking about going up cliff and pushing big rock off the top.

If I'm not blogging next week,  you will know why.....

Caro