Inveraray was fine, but my final trip – on the very last day before leaving the country – had to be to Dunkeld. It was in its cathedral that I had promised myself to move to Scotland back in 2010; I had revisited in ’11, ’12 and (with Tommy) ’14; it is a sort of ‘holy’ place for me, if you see what I mean.
Contrary to the forecast the weather was sunny; I flirted with the idea of also revisiting Ossian’s Hall of Mirrors, but I was in a bit of a hurry back for Tommy’s last visit. (It was also so windy I was afraid of losing my cap.) Thus, I just strolled the town, had a fag on a bench on the cathedral lawn, and after the Sunday service was over sat for a very short time at ‘my’ seat (the hindmost leftmost one), promising myself it was not all over and I would be back. If the worst came to the worst, at least as a tourist. I even wrote to the visitors’ book “Bidh mi air ais” (signing myself with my prospective new name), donated a quid and went back.
In Glasgow I had my last pint of Tennent’s in Molly Malone’s and went to my house to wait for Tommy.