476

Mr Crofter and I, yours truly the diarist, took off across The Minch the other day. On the ferry. Only, I had to rise from my fitful slumbers at 4.30am to catch the early ferry [slaps head at the folly of it all]. What was I thinking? Well, if you must know, nothing much at all. Obviously.

We went in the Pimpmobile towing a huge box on wheels which slowed progress somewhat, caused consternation to The Crofter at the rising temperature of the cooling water but, and this is the important bit, looked the part. Oh didn't we look the part? I was almost tempted to tie a scarf round my hair and everything - but I really didn't want to frighten the locals.

We had an appointment with a lady in the less than salubrious end of Dingwall. At Dingwall Mart to be precise. It felt like one of those dodgy assignations you see in equally dodgy AmeriCan films. All flashing headlights and plain brown envelopes changing hands. There was the lady with her wheels phoning her,,,, her friend while The Crofter took it all in, smelt the air and played the part.

We'd been grilled by Germans earlier in the day when we were refuelling [scrambled egg on toast - lovely] at a transport cafe [The Crofter takes you to all the best places you know]. We didn't mention the war[s] but did have a conversation about sheeps, coows and the like. I hope we didn't give too many secrets away.

In no time, the assignation time had arrived. The goods were there. The buyers too. The middlelady did the deal and soon Mr Crofter had two new lovely ladies to play with and Eric to keep them in order - and in calf.

The best thing is, these coows are lovely and calm.