Aviemore-the-Merrier

On this special occasion, please indulge me with a wee personal reflection, will you?

Let me begin by saying this. If you think becoming a parent makes you feel older, try becoming a parent of a daughter who has just turned fifty.

I will remember Friday the 17th of September, 1976 for the rest of my life. There I was, teaching my Higher-grade Chemistry class in blissful peace, when the phone call came in from my young wife Nan, now sadly no longer with us.

‘Ian, my waters have broken!’ she proclaimed. ‘Get back here now. And I don’t mean after your lesson’s finished, I mean right bloody now. And by the way, I’m never letting you near me again.’

Some eight interminable hours later, I found myself holding my beautiful blue-eyed, blonde-haired baby girl Jillian and realising that I was the luckiest man alive.

And, it gives me great pleasure to say, what a wonderful daughter she has been.

Now fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. In other words, exactly fifty years later. That’s half a century, for the arithmeticians among you. You see, it was then that our extended family and a few special friends found ourselves commandeering several adjacent holiday homes in the Speyside town of Aviemore, which has always held a very special place in our hearts over those blistering years.

The occasion? Jillian’s ‘big’ birthday bash.

And let me tell you, what a ‘rerr terr’ we all had … umpteen adults, teenagers and weans of all ages, not to mention a total of six big dugs (or more accurately, five big dugs and one 19-week-old Labrador puppy masquerading as a terrorist thug).

Our adventure began with a convoy of car journeys from deepest Ayrshire, or in our own case from the island of Arran. And I am happy to report that it was blissfully incident-free … except, that was, for my son’s aforementioned Lab puppy deciding to devour a whole seven-day course of antibiotics at the one sitting, blister packaging included.

She not only lived to tell the tale, but has now achieved the proud distinction of gaining an entry in the Guinness Book of Records for ‘the longest and most continuous projectile excretion of canine diarrhea ever recorded’. We are so proud of her, and at such a young age too.

Indeed, such was the momentous nature of her performance that the subsequent complete and utter destruction of her alleged master’s bluetooth headphones went largely unnoticed.

In the event, it was Jillian’s own temporary abode that was chosen as the communal party venue, principally on account of two overriding factors … firstly, that hers was the largest & most spacious of our assorted rental houses, and secondly, that none of the rest of us could be in the slightest bit arsed cleaning up the debris or washing the dishes the next morning.

Yes, teamwork and collective responsibility, that’s what makes our family tick.

The following day heralded an extended visit to the ‘Landmark Centre’ in Carrbridge, a beautiful little village a few miles north of Aviemore, where the wee weans … and the big weans … all had an absolute hoot. Now, Landmark wasn’t exactly The Magic Kingdom or Epcot, nor did it claim to be, but it was something quite wonderful all the same, with its amazing capacity to keep every one of us beaming from ear-to-lug in the autumnal sunshine.

Death-defying water slides, lofty treetop trails, petrifying skydiving parachute jumps, a runaway timber train, a dinosaur kingdom and wild water rides … Landmark had it all. Even a lovely little cafeteria serving scrumptious baked tatties with cheese and beans (other fillings are also available).

Everyone later agreed that the highlight of that particular day was six-year-old Olivia’s response to having to leap over from one swaying platform to another at a height of sixty feet, her reaction being a 90/10 split between screaming in terror and hysterical laughter. Happy, happy days.

Later that same evening, my rather innovative son-in-law, Paul, decided to launch his new and much-boasted board game, ‘The Ditch Irony’.

Get it? Well, if I need to explain it to you, you really don’t, do you?

Basically, it is a play on words and involves ‘substitutions and opposites’, the game’s eye-watering counter-intuitiveness adequately aided and abetted by copious quantities of booze.

Everyone absolutely loved it. Everyone that was, except me, because as a chronically-logical thinker it absolutely did my head in and I came last, an accolade of which I remain rather proud to this very day.

In evidence, please allow me to furnish you with a few examples of the kind of utter drivel to which we were so cruelly subjected that evening.

Question. ‘Actor … Religious block of hay?’ (Answer … Christian Bale.)
Question. ‘Singer … B my beer bungalow?’ (Answer… Amy Winehouse.)
Question. ‘Famous historical building in London … Wee Bill?’ (Answer … Big Ben.)
And the worst one of all … Question. ‘Actor … Danny-Boy night toilet isn’t?’ (Answer … Daniel Day Lewis.)

I’m sure you get the drift, don’t you? If so, please keep it to yourself for fear of immediate institutionalization.

The following morning involved a glorious communal walk along the shores of Loch Morlich, we adults accompanied by our assorted canine companions. Afterwards, the men (and my football-mad granddaughter, Lucie) headed for the local hotel to watch the Old Firm match, with its customarily ridiculous early kick-off.

One thing I will never forget was the sight of my son and his 13-year-old daughter standing outside the door of the Winking Owl Hotel at 11.59am on a Sunday morning, waiting for the public bar to open. It was an image which awakened in me a strange amalgam of pride and shame, the former just edging out the latter, as indeed the boys in royal blue then did similarly to those in emerald green.

Over the next couple of days, the magnificent pine forests and waterways of the Speyside Valley heralded many more walks and derring-do adventures, daylight eventually giving way to dusk, at which point we all tucked ravenously into various delightful meals before topping the evenings off with yet more outrageous board games.

Indeed (and I must try to avoid appearing in any way boastful here), my own particular favourite was the enormously mind-stretching ‘Bird Bingo’ game, which came right down to the wire before I flipped over the Red-Bearded Bee-Eater card and the trophy was mine. Okay, I had just consigned my tearful six-year-old granddaughter to the runner-up spot, but she has to learn the hard way, don’t you agree?

One thing was for sure, though. We had made every single second of that wonderful weekend count, feasted ourselves with magnificent food and beverage, and made enough indelible precious memories to last a lifetime.

As Jillian’s ‘bestie’ Fiona later put it, the smile never left the birthday girl’s face from the moment we arrived until the moment we had then to head back home.

A truly magical time for a very, very special daughter.

Before I go, do you fancy a wee bit of fun? Excellent!

I shall now leave you with ten more Ditch Irony riddles. If you manage to solve all of them successfully, feel free to enter your answers in my ‘comments’ box on the blog … and then seek immediate psychiatric assistance.

Right, are you ready … ?

1. Actor. ‘Polishing Complete Woman’?
2. Musicians. ‘The Tumbling Boulders’? (If you don’t get this one, give up now.)
3. Classic Meal. ‘Rat Arsenal Star’?
4. Tourist Attraction. ‘Mouse Reservoir’?
5. Film. ‘Murder Willy Three.’?
6. Actor. ‘Crumple Blackbird.’?
7. Musician. ‘Fling Brambles.’?
8. Film. ‘Chicken Liver.’?
9. Famous Football Team. ‘Valley Rabbit Fruit Collectors’?
10. Classic Meal. ‘Dick Gasp Lorry’?

According to the shrinks, between 0-3 correct answers is socially acceptable, 4-7 is considerably worrying and 8-10 is total straightjacket material.