Neist Point the Knee Wrecker
I’ll set the scene. We’re on the Isle of Skye. We’ve been here a couple of weeks, plodding around in the van, parking up in remote spots and getting on with our carving and weaving (perfect spot for a link to our etsy shop), when I realise that we haven’t actually seen many of the ‘attractions’ on the island. It’s a decent weather day, the dog is due a big walk, so I thought I’d be clever and plan a little morning walk to Neist Point Lighthouse.
I love a lighthouse. We actually got married in one. And a semi derelict one just doubly appeals to me. The landscape is stunning, and it tricks you into wanting to scale the path down to get closer to the cliffs and the buildings. So down we go. The problem is, the path is so steep at some points that I actually thought my knees might just bend backwards and I’d just have to slide down the rest of the way like some kind of seal.
Once you’re at the lighthouse you almost forget about the death path you’ve just taken to get down there, but then you have a good look around and fancy getting back to the van for a cup of coffee and you turn around and…shit. Usually I’m quite good at trooping through a big walk, but I honestly started planning on how I could get myself rescued from the bottom without causing too much of a stir. I had to strip off any unnecessary layers of clothing and hand them over to poor Steven along with my absolutely massive beast of a camera. Sometimes a husband just has to make sacrifices because it was either that or leave me down there to die.
Just to make it worse, a man over double our age was hiking up right past us without a care in the world, and even stopped at the top completely not out of breath at all and made a phonecall. I wouldn’t have even been able to shout for help at this point and he’s rang someone to have a chat. Totally shamed.