TGO Challenge 2019: Lochailort to Cocklem Bents: In the beginning.

IN THE BEGINNING

For the majority of the population of Great Britain Wednesday the eighth of May was a day like any other. However, for Lord Elpus and me it was a day when success was snatched from the gaping maw of failure. The High Speed Rail Link which is to be built between London and all those who live 'up north' had decided that the Bree Louise - a lovely watering hole in North London - was in the way, and had forced the pub to close. The plan is to demolish this little gem. Such is progress...

A dilemma: Where were we to meet up prior to catching the Caledonian Sleeper that evening. Various hostelries were suggested by the good folk of the Challenge Message Board but in the end common sense prevailed and we agreed on the pub that I had chosen in the first place.

Phil was due at the pub half an hour or so before me, however I arrived earlier than planned after an excellent afternoon in the West End. After sinking my second pint of Aspall's finest and with time ticking away delightfully pleasantly, yet still with no sign of his Lordship, it looked as if our expedition was already doomed.  I resorted to a text message enquiring after his whereabouts.

The Bounder was in another boozer, not two hundred yards from me. He had suffered a dreadful first pint and so was currently in the process of massaging the damaged taste buds with a better ale, more suited to his refined palate. His demeanour appeared cheerful and he seemed to have acquired a companion who 'quite fancied a walk in the mountains.' He was sure that her white stilettos would prove superb on the icy summits and that fishnets could be repurposed to provide brown trout for breakfast on the shores of high mountain lochans.

After one more beer for the road, eventually we were reacquainted. There was not a sign of the delightful Tamara and she was never mentioned again. The adventure was back on!

FINALLY, TOGETHER IN THE CORRECT PUB

But I'm getting ahead of myself. How did we arrive at this particular Wednesday, about to set off on an adventure with two other Rufty-Tufty Bastards?

Let me introduce you to this year's team:

LORD ELPUS

Yes. This is the best picture I can find of Phil. I believe it was some sort of Mardi Gras get-together in a Masonic Lodge. He is best summarized by his twitter profile:

• Unemployable accidental entrepreneur. Now hors de combat. Favourite word: schadenfreude.

MAD'N'BAD

The second man on the rope: Mad'n'Bad. Again, going with twitter:

• Hill walker, runner, cyclist, poet and wannabe guitarist. Life's too short. Have a go.

A VERYVERYNICEMAN

The third man: David, a veryveryniceman. Twitter again:

• Backpacks. All the gear and no idea. Writes a diary and a novel. Surprisingly unpublished.

ME

And lastly, hanging on at the back of the rope, is me.

• TGO Challenge addict and LEJOGer. Fluffy and cuddly but grumpy with fools.

How we decided to walk as a team defeats my failing grey matter. Who on earth would have thought to weld these disparate characters together to form a tightly knit fighting unit? They must have been out of their minds. But there it is and here we are.

I'll let some photographs take you on our long journey to the distant shore of north west Scotland:

EUSTON

A WET WEDNESDAY LOOKING OUT FROM A LONDON PUB

TWO CHALLENGE LEG ENDS AT NIGHT AT EUSTON STATION

THE VIEW FROM MY BERTH

WAITING FOR THE BAR TO OPEN

AFTER FIGHTING OFF OFFICIOUS ATTENDANTS WE SIP THE FINEST WINES KNOWN TO HUMANITY.

THELMA & LOUISE

We arrive in Scotland surprisingly in one piece. There's not a mark on Lord Elpus. His trouser legs are vomit free and my scalp doesn't hurt to the touch. Quite extraordinary. Andy and David will be arriving later on in the day so Phil and I decide to have a paddle in the Atlantic Ocean. 

LOCHAILORT-UPON-ATLANTIC OCEAN. ALMOST.

The Atlantic Ocean is being particularly shy when we arrive and has wandered off westwards to considerable lengths.  Undeterred, we chase the blighter across the salt marsh in order to provide photographic proof of having dipped our toes in the briny.

HOGWARTS EXPRESS RETURNING FROM MALLAIG

CALM BEFORE THE STORM. THE INN AT LOCHAILORT

Immediately after taking this picture of a semi-naked man, there's a tremendous commotion outside my hotel bedroom door. Aspidistras and china pots crash from plant stands, pictures smash onto the floor and loud expletives fill the air.

Mad'n'Bad, rucksack hanging crazily from one shoulder, bursts grinning through the door.

"Hello chaps!"