Slack Jawed Babbling

Ullapool was a real destination hub. The absence of any other settlement for miles around that could boast a ferry terminal, half a dozen pubs/restaurants and a supermarket meant that tourists, visitors and explorers (that’s me and Mrs A, obviously) made their way here in droves. For a village of only 1,500 souls, Ullapool punched above its weight. We sat with a beer in the bar of the Seaforth pub/restaurant, waiting for table to become free for dinner. This was a substantial establishment on the harbour road, and was packed. Even the outside tables under a giant awning were full. The bar was a good place to people watch. All shapes, sizes and tribes of people – adventurous families, hairy bikers, cozy motorhomers, island-hopping residents, discerning travellers (us again, obvs) and even a few small groups of lairy young adults. A cosmopolitan mix that showed how convincingly Ullapool had hit NC500 paydirt. Food quality standards remained impressively high. As a purpose-built 18 th