You have to travel up via Inverness, which is a city crying out for a makeover: beautiful buildings stand adjacent to scummy pavements, and the commercial focus on drinking is sad and depressing. The city has a good heart, however.
The bus to Ullapool leaves early in the morning, and smoothly exits Inverness, heading west, through what must be some of the most lovely countryside in the whole of the British Isles. Pale green mountains are alternately illuminated and shadowed by the sun and the clouds, with tiny silvered aspen and birch trees throwing black shadows on the grass when the light peeks through. There are babbling waterfalls running through and over blocks of grey granite, and unexpected heather gardens atop huge boulders. Streams of bog cotton run across the moorland. In places, Scots pines rise through darkened woodlands, their red trunks contrasting with their dark green leaves.
By mid-morning, the bus arrives at Ullapool pier, ready for the ferry which waits to take passengers to the Isle of Lewis. Little fishing boats nestle close to the jetty and small sailboats bob about on the grey sea, with a background of darker mountains spreading into the distance.
The Argyll Hotel's music nights have moved from the small music room to the larger main bar; Dave very kindly set up the PA and I did a quick line check before Sot Otter (who arranges the events there), started the evening with her song about Canterbury friends. She has a mesmerising delivery and it's a very beautiful song, which won the Ardesier Folk Song competition last year. A new song, Never Seen a Bee, followed, and then Anne and Dave joined her to provide viola and harmony vocals. Gradually, more musicians drifted on to the stage, and the set ended with a tremendous stacked-harmony song all done completely acoustically. There was a table of German diners who were blown away by it all, filming and drinking it all in.
After a short break, I plugged in the Green Goddess and got to work. Sadly, I don't think my voice carries very well acoustically, so I needed the help of the PA. Sot and Anne joined the harmonies for Women of the World and as the set went on the Germans left, having finished their dinner. Oh no! A semi-empty room! I need not have worried: up popped Robbie, youngest son of my Champagne Friend, and then a flood of rowdy twenty-somethings on a night out packed out the bar. End of polite meepy Helen, beginning of Bathing Pond Helen. It was the only way to corral the noise and boy, did they sing lustily! I had a rapid re-think of what I was going to play and managed to keep abreast of their boisterousness. I'd planned to play new songs in a quiet little room, but this alternative plan was actually good fun!
After I'd finished playing, a young woman came up and asked 'Please can we sing the Bathing Pond again?'. So we all went for it, and had a bloody good bellow and put the night to bed with a loud fanfare.
Well it is always a pleasure playing Ullapool, never the same thing twice. Once again, hats off to Sot for the invitation, and to Anne and Anthony for the hospitality.
My brain buzzed through most of the night but I managed to get up early enough for another walk round the village and a ten minute mountain-watch, during which the weather changed in as many minutes.
The journey back to London was absolutely fraught: cancelled trains, replacement buses and sitting on the floor of a train from Edinburgh to Peterborough, and all because the rail companies think their drivers should work 80-hour weeks. I was rescued by a very nice woman ticket inspector, who even got me a cup of tea. I almost cried with gratitude.
But it was worth it- Ullapool always is! What a magical place.
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