A WINTER BREAK ...?

John Fraser.

'I wis goin' tae sit there!'. Emerging from the hostility of Oban Prom in a Force 9, the Oban Inn gave only a momentary feeling of refuge.

Reasons for living on Coll are often as diverse as they are obscure. I certainly felt the latter, this being a Saturday evening in Oban waiting for a Sunday boat. No more need be said, other than the prospects of the boat making it seemed remote. Stay in Oban ? To do what ? Return to Glasgow again ? Another sauna courtesy of B.R. - better perhaps than the frostbite of a previous excursion. Maybe these new 'Sprinters' will be an improvement, as long as you keep your legs crossed that is!

'Sit on my knee if you like! " I retorted. A laugh followed by a few involuntary sideways paces across the bar left me alone again.

The 'Light of India' had occupied part of the evening. Of Oban's few alternatives, 'Scrooge' at the cinema did not appeal and also involved a further 400 yards or so in the maelstrom outside.

And so, it was a conversation with the barman on a leaking cooler, followed by a short discussion of the day's football, made all the more depressing by the fact that Aberdeen had been beaten by Rangers. At least United won. A few moments more pondering a pint and then considering the price of £1.01 Must be important to someone that penny. I wonder whether it costs more to collect. "Blame the brewer ', says the barman.

More pondering. The music is turned up in competition with a group of "folksingers' in the corner. Pondering becomes difficult. Someone sings an almost recognisable song but this is short lived. 'Taxi ! ', someone shouts and after much shouting and discussion the singers grudgingly evacuate the premises, restoring a degree of calm.

"Last orders for pints, please !', breaks this relative still. My half full glass stares up at me; double or quits ? Quits takes the upper hand and I walk to the door, pausing momentarily to make an internal readjustment to a Chicken Bhuna Masala. A deep breath and of at a brisk trot towards the pier and the comforts of a berth. More pondering on the odds of being in my own bed tomorrow. For: Jimmy Campbell, Skipper of the Claymore. Against: The Weather.) drift into a sleep only punctuated by the occasional switch on of a generator. The morning will tell.

Footnote: The weather won and the author finally returned on Tuesday.