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The Old Country Tuesday morning was even uglier than Monday morning, the heavy raindrops beating against the windows as I ate Mrs. MacLean's biscuits and sausage. Heavy in a deja vu haze, I walked over to the Hydroelectric shop and got a 13-amp plug for my radio, so I could listen to the radio and read at the same time. I also got some newspapers and spent the next four hours in the lounge, a complete shut-in. I began to wonder if staying another four days in Tobermory was as good an idea as I had thought. I had probably exhausted the charms of Tobermory, and this hideous weather was making a mockery out of my idea of hiking into the mountains for a day. I kept reminding myself of my freedom -- you can go anywhere you want to! Where do you want to go? Think, Cook! In a bad weather depression, I trudged through the papers, nothing registering on me. At noon I got some spagetti and quiche at the Tobermory Guest House, and retired back to the lounge and my big comfy chair to start on the Wilt books. In the afternoon, I wandered up and down the street in the rain, thinking about my plans. I stopped into the MacDonald Arms Hotel and fought my way through a crush of people to get a beer. As I sipped it in a corner, boaters and tourists packed around me, I decided it was time to go. Back at the Carnaburg I told Iain that I would be leaving for Glasgow the next morning. "OK! No problem!" Taking my guidebook, I went down to the Gannett for dinner and while I ate I researched the hotel market in Glasgow. From what I'd seen of Glasgow, it didn't look like a bed-and-breakfast kind of town, but more like a haven for flophouses. My embryonic plan was to stay in Glasgow for a few days, so I decided to treat myself to one night of luxury while looking for a decent place to stay. Accordingly to my guidebook, the most elegant hotel in Glasgow was the Holiday Inn on Argyll Street. Weaving out of the Gannett after a few Tobermorys, I headed for the phone box and tried to call the Holiday Inn. For some reason, I couldn't get the thing to take my tens, and I ended up losing 30p and not talking to anyone. Iain let me use his phone again, and I confirmed a reservation for the next night at 52 pounds a night, which was a sorry comparison with the 8 pounds I was paying Iain a day. I had picked up a box at dinner (a wine box from Romania), and spent the evening going through all my stuff to see what could be sent home ahead of me. Spare clothing I'd found no use for, magazines, paperbacks, my brass rubbings from Edinburgh, a bottle of Tobermory (buried deep in a pile of jeans -- my fear of customs again) and other various bits of crap I wanted to hang onto but didn't want to haul all over Scotland. Feeling quesy, I let the final wrapping until the morning and went to bed early.
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