It was wet on Mull – not just an Irish ‘soft day’ but properly sodden.  But apart from that it was great.  We set out to do a cliff walk but it was so wet that we ended up on the ferry to Iona.  Iona in the rain is a damp place rather than a thin place.  We sat in the pub near the pier and nebbed as one of our American friends rang home: ‘I’m in the Inner Orkneys …’

Best was the wildlife tour led by David.  What he does looked difficult to me.  Drive a minibus all day on fairly poor, single-track roads, be friendly and knowledgeable, keep the patter going, provide quality food constantly and, above all, find the wildlife that the customers have paid to see and let them look at it through the big telescope.  And he did it well. We started with a family of otters – looked like any other lump of seaweed but it was a mother and two cubs.  Amazing in close-up.  Then there was the Peregrine Falcon sitting on a lonely crag and a constant supply of local sea birds.  Then it became a struggle to find the Sea Eagles and the Golden Eagles as the weather deteriorated.  Eventually, as he drove down a steep and twisty hill, David pointed to a tree close to the top of a hill about half a mile away.  And in the tree was a young Sea Eagle.  I’d love to have seen it fly …  but maybe next time.  And, in a strange way, the best of it was that you couldn’t manage to photograph any of it – you just had to see it, savour it and take the memory of it away.

Meanwhile, Poppy really enjoyed her holiday at Blogstead Emeritus.  So kind, so attentive .. I think she feels we take her for granted.

We’re continuing the Visit Scotland trek with a brief visit to Mull – at least the weather is picking up.  Poppy is visiting Blogstead Emeritus where she finds the facilities and attention are of a standard which equals or maybe surpasses what is on offer here.  Back Wednesday.

Another day working for Visit Scotland – beginning with a quick visit to Auchterarder for a little light retail therapy with a restorative coffee and a rubarb pie in a delightful deli.

Time pressing – so on to Falkland to climb the hill at East Lomond.  The views are amazing – all the way to the Firth of Forth.  As we approached, we wondered at the aerobatics of the glider pilots .. and, as we got closer, began to ponder the ‘is that a big plane far away or a small one nearer’ question. Sure enough, a peep over the summit of the hill revealed a nest of model plane enthusiasts with radio controllers.  So we had a chat to them – about glider racing at 150 miles an hour and how they can gain speed by circulating within a vortex of air.  Enthusiasts about anything are always fascinating.  And on the descent we met one of my regular blog-readers climbing up – could any day hold more?

So we ended a restful day with a really remarkable concert at Strathgarry, near Blair Atholl, where Henrietta, Lavinia and Bumble run a music festival, presiding over a feast of both music and food.

And maybe the weather is starting to improve?

I mourn the death of George Melly. For some reason, I read ‘Owning Up’ – his autobiography of his early years on the road – with the Mulligan band – long before the days of John Chilton’s Feetwarmers. In a world of caution and carefulness – much of it my own – I found his overwhelming exuberance very attractive. I must go back and read that other book about his jazz and his sexuality, ‘Rum, Bum And Concertina’

It is, of course, appropriate that he should die as the smoking ban arrives in England. The Grauniad today said that it is ‘comforting that one of the last great celebrity smokers should die in the saddle.’ And, however much I detest smoking, I can cope with that. One could ask all sorts of elegant questions about the final statement of the same article that, ‘He believed that what he did with his life was much more important than how long it was. He believed in enjoying himself and doing what he wanted, whatever the consequences.’ Clearly the opposite of self-sacrificing Christ-likeness. And yet I suspect that the exuberance was an expression both of life seized with both hands and of giving of his gifts and talents. The world will be the poorer without him.

By the way, the Scottish holiday retreated to the Elgar Pomp and Circumstance world of Glamis Castle today under pressure of the weather. The man at the gate made an executive decision to give us the Senior Citizens’ rate. ’nuff said.

Well – we managed 46 miles today – Ian on the Brompton and me on Bamm Bamm’s mountain bike.  We cheated a bit by joining the N7 [on the National Cycle Route] at the top of Glen Ogle above Killin.  The Brompton for some reason managed five punctures during the day.  So it was Killin, then the switch-back along the southern shore of Loch Tay to Kenmore.  Then towards Pitlochry until Logerait where we turned south on the N77 towards Dunkeld.  It’s surprising that the N7 by-passes Aberfeldy – but then one of the more remarkable stragetic decisions made by our diocese in the past was that we would close and sell our church there.  So I shouldn’t be surprised.

We met lots of people from all over the place spending their holidays riding the length of the N7 from Inverness to Carlisle.  It was great – although, as the psalmist might say, my down-sitting and my uprising leave something to be desired at present.

We’re having a week off and decided to visit Scotland with friends.  Today was a walk around the hills above Loch Tay – at the Acharn Falls: ‘From Acharn, on the south shore of Loch Tay, the path rises through beech-woods past a narrow gorge where the Acharn Burn plummets over the Acharn Falls. Above the falls the route follows Land-Rover tracks over open moorland providing superb views, then passes an ancient tumulus and stone circle before fording the burn. Returning, view the falls from the gallery of a hermit’s cave.’

And tomorrow we’re going to unfurl the Brompton folding bicycles at the top of the hill outside Killin and cycle to Pitlochry on the National Cycle Route.  Imagine actually living here!

One of the interesting spiritual ideals during the first 1000 years of Christianity was the peregrinatio or “voluntary exile”. Those particularly devoted to the Lord would voluntarily leave their own home and undertake dangerous journeys to various places. Some Celtic Christians, especially some from Ireland, practiced an extreme form of this. They would get into a small boat, without oars or rudder or any other way to steer the boat. They would take no food or water. After praying they would cast themselves off from shore trusting the Lord to use the wind and the ocean currents to take them wherever He wanted and to provide for all their needs.

I like the idea of that – travelling without oars or destination.  But it’s not for me really.  We had the first meeting of the Implementation Group for the Diocesan Review last night – it’s really more a group which keeps everything on track – making sure that the Spirit leads us into all truth along a carefully charted course.  But I suppose I do have to admit that, for me, the joy of it is that ultimately I don’t actually know what the destination is.  I know the direction and the values which define the journey – but not the destination.

One thinks a bit about ministry – moving from Alan’s episcopal ordination in Belfast through the excretory realities of Easyjet to Glenalmond Commemoration day to Tembu’s Ordination.  And while it is important to be able to see some kind of common thread running through all this, I long ago found that the secret is to try to be 100% present wherever and whatever it is.  The problem with that is that I can’t remember where I was half an hour ago.

Tembu’s ordination in Dunfermline on Sunday was quite an event – the full details as ever are on the wee small hours blog   I never quite know what people expect – but it was clear that, for some who were there, it became a powerful and unexpectedly moving experience which will alter their perception of vocation, ministry and the deep things with which ministry deals.  It’s back to expectations again – higher the better IMHO.

I’ve been heading home – head full of all the high-flown stuff of episcopal ministry after the consecration of Alan as the new Bishop of Connor.  In fact the service did allow plenty of time for reflection – so I pondered the way in which a bishop has the best and the worst of it.  One has all the opportunities in the world to encourage, guide, strengthen, praise …. but one also ends up dealing with stuff that others either will not or cannot touch.  And maybe that’s all part of the binding and loosing in ministry.

So it was [literally] down to earth with a bump after our Peeasyjet flight landed this evening.  A rather forward young lady standing in the aisle said to me, ‘Unless I get off this plane really quickly, I’m going to wet myself.’  And her rather restless demeanour suggested that she meant nothing less.

Meanwhile I’ve been continuing to ponder David Campbell’s description of my customary hard-nosed toughness .  I think he may have been referring to my ‘innocent as doves’ manner of promoting the Diocesan Strategic Review in Crieff.  I always think I’m a bit of a wimp – maybe I have to learn to see myself as others, etc., etc.

But, to my absolute delight, I met a nice man at the back of the room who pointed to his nose and said to me that ‘We had something very much in common’ – referring to my own not-insignificant hooter.  ‘Time for a bit of spin,’ I thought – and suggested some suitable epithets such as aquiline or Ciceronian.  The nasty and brutish ‘hard’ never crossed my mind.

Quick visit to Belfast for the consecration of my old friend Alan Abernethy as Bishop of Connor.  The Holy Spirit has done well this time.  He has some very difficult stuff ahead of him.   I think my scenery is better than his too!  And, of course, I get to meet the old friends as in, ‘You’re looking really well … you haven’t got a Scottish accent … could you not do something about your hair …. a wee bit of weight?’  Meanwhile my major preoccupation in my various travels is to keep the E Mail going uninterrupted so that those who are not blog readers think that I have never been away.  So I wage constant battle with other wifi’s and outgoing mail servers, etc.  Perhaps episcopal ordination will bestow on Alan the ability to deal with all this.

Mark also arrived here this evening from Glasgow ready for the start of the 4 Peaks Challenge with a group of his physiotherapist friends in aid of the orphanage in Thailand where he worked before Christmas.  Just in case anybody feels like a bit of hillwalking, this means that between Friday afternoon and Saturday night they will do ‘on the trot’ Slieve Donard, Snowdon, Scafell Pike and Ben Nevis.  Mad.