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An account of Cousland Real Ale and Poetry Society's annual outing with partners in 2006. It was our misfortune that the date of our trip coincided with that chosen by the Duke of Atholl, Colonel in Chief of Europe's last private army, to muster his forces for their annual inspection and parade.


Pz-avatarby Paul Cornes25 Feb 2015

This year our outing headed north,
around the bypass, over Forth,
brewery tour not far away
as we sped along the motorway.
Skirting Perth, we made a stop
at glassware factory and shop,
paperweights, though very handsome,
had prices matching a king's ransom.

Onward to Loch Faskally
and the township of Pitlochry,
renowned home of Edradour,
base for the Moulin Brewery tour,
at the gateway to Glen Garry
where Scots won at Killicrankie
until, that is, English 'shi-ites'
returned to haunt proud Jacobites.

For a breath of hieland air,
next port of call was Castle Blair.
But, against all that we were hopin',
the bloody castle was nae open.
Instead, as Atholls trooped their colour,
dark rain clouds began to gather,
ladies' mood could not be bluer,
they could have shopped at House of Bruar.

So off the coach, drenched by rain,
the 'curse of Threave' struck yet again,
not another glimpse of sun
before commencing homeward run.
At eventide, Tormaukin Inn,
its prices source of some chagrin,
so no-one ordered 'Dover sole'
at this the day's last watering hole.