BENTLEY MEMOIRS
- David Bentley
- Sep 15
- 9 min read
 | David was Head of Asset Management at CIPFA for over 20 years but has recently ‘semi-retired’ and moved to live in the Scottish Highlands north of Inverness. If you are interested in his photography website and ‘Grumpy’ travel guides, they can be seen at https://davidjbentleyphotography.com/ .You may even be tempted to stay at his Bed and Breakfast which can be viewed at cuillichmill.co.uk; if it’s any comfort, he assures me that he is not responsible for cooking the breakfasts. |
If you fancy a bit of light relief, you’ll enjoy part one of David’s holiday tales. He’s promised a follow up (if I behave myself!) |
A B&B break
It’s late June and we’re fully immersed in our 4th season of running the Bed and Breakfast. We’re still top of the charts on AirBnB and Booking.com and getting a lot of repeat bookings. So, I suppose we must be doing something right. The reviews (which this industry lives or dies on) are coming in thick and fast and so far, the 5 stars are holding up. I even got called “Sweet, helpful and friendly” in the most recent, making it increasingly difficult to maintain my grumpy reputation [Ed – now that I cannot believe!]. Clearly, I’ve got to work harder.
The advantage of running a B&B from April to the end of October is that you get a lot of time off from November to March. The disadvantage is there isn’t a massive amount open up in the Highlands between November and March, added to the fact that the weather during that period can be somewhat ‘interesting’. Don’t get me wrong - a sunny crisp snowy winter’s day can be absolutely breath-taking but sometimes even I, who can’t sit in the heat by a pool for more than a minute, might be prepared to look at sunny escapes for a rest.
A memorable flight
With one of our sons working in Australia, we took the opportunity to go and descend on him for a couple of months, a cheap holiday in one sense, but we still needed to get there. Our flight via Singapore was not without its moments. Everything was going swimmingly (probably not the best metaphor) through check-in, security and boarding at Singapore airport. Then sitting on the plane, 20 minutes before departure, all the lights and power goes off. Even the “emergency lighting that will guide you to your nearest exits” referred to repeatedly as part of the safety briefing were conspicuous by their unilluminated absence.
We sat there in silence, the cabin crew speeding up and down the aisles with torches trying to look as if they knew what was going on, without looking at all that they knew what was going on.
A few braver passengers asked the question which garnered a standard response “There will be an announcement in a minute”. Twenty “announcementless” minutes later the power came back on and there was finally a broadcast from the captain. “It’s a faulty part, but nothing too important”, only the on-board motor that starts the engines. But don’t worry “they’re going to get a machine that can do it from the tarmac”. At that point the power promptly went back off again with everyone completely informed, satisfied, and reassured.
Another 20 minutes with a full plane and no power. By this stage it wasn’t the darkness we were concerned about, more the air conditioning. It was like being a baked bean in a full can that was being boiled on the hob - but without the tomato sauce. The air crew started giving out water, spilling a large percentage in the dark. And then as if by magic the power came back on again. “This is the Captain speaking; you might be getting a little toasty” (no kidding mister) “They’re just fetching some air from the terminal”.
It’s probably the way my mind works, but I immediately had this picture of airport staff running up and down the terminal building waving their arms around trying to catch as much air as possible to bring back to the plane. Maybe you herd air? Maybe you catch it in great big nets, super-sized bin bags, or just take a very big breath, keep your mouth closed and sprint back to the plane where you can let it out again. Whichever method they chose it must have worked, as the air arrived and not a minute too soon. A bit like one of those disaster movies where the people that are suffocating are freed just on the verge of passing out, only slightly less dramatic.
“This is the Captain speaking” we knew his voice by now; he could save a bit of time in case the power went off again by not introducing himself. “We can’t now turn the lights off for the flight, so we’re going to give out free night masks.”
Anything else? Has the plane got a sufficient number of wings? If the engines cut out again, will we need to pedal fast to start them? Are there snakes on the plane and Samuel L Jackson’s going to jump out from one of the lockers?
Gradually the temperature cooled, the crew stopped tearing around, the passengers calmed, the engines started, we taxied down the runway, taking off just over an hour late. All in all, in the scheme of things not too bad. Most of the passengers were British and clearly tried to maintain a stiff, if not a little sweaty, upper lip in a time of ‘mild peril’ as they say in film rating parlance.
Last year was meant to be the ‘one and only’ Australia trip. Our son had a three-year contract, and he was adamant he was coming back to Europe when it finished. We took the opportunity for a down under experience while we had the chance. But Cupid’s arrow (or possibly more appropriately Cupid’s boomerang) can change everything in a heartbeat. Now he’s an expert at cooking sausage sizzlers on the barbie and is actively applying for Australian citizenship.
Some national comparisons
So, this year was the sequel; admittedly we’ve got unfinished business in New Zealand, and we’d like to see the Barrier Reef, but many of the fundamental questions (great unknowns this time last year), were no longer a mystery. For example, Vegemite is not a patch on Marmite. OK, if you were marooned on a desert island with only a pot of Vegemite and a couple of slices of toast for company, you would probably condescend to spread a little, but not before you’d scanned the horizon for several minutes in the hope of an opportune Marmite tanker sailing past.
Secondly restaurants do not offer Brown Sauce. A bit of a deal breaker this one. I can’t see me living long term in a country that offers you barbeque sauce as a poor substitute. It’s not a surprise that our son asked us to pack some HP Fruity in the Red Cross Survival Pack we’re carrying over for him, along with Vimto (probably wouldn’t be my first choice) and Percy Pig Sweets. The boy clearly knows how to live.
I didn’t bother watching re-runs of Skippy this time either. A year ago, I was up into the midnight hours watching the old series over and over as part of my extensive research into talking and understanding Kangaroo. I can only presume that animals in the various regions speak with different dialects as I hadn’t got a clue what they were saying last time, and I’m not sure the kids who were stuck down the mine ever got out in the end (you probably have to be of a certain age to get that one!).
In its favour, Australia does have Yorkshire Tea, which was a mega bonus, enabling me significantly to cut down on last year’s luggage and even pack a change of clothes.
I suppose there were still a few mysteries I hadn’t yet got answers for. As an example, I didn’t see haggis last time and more importantly Irn-Bru. The main focus of my excitement, however, this time round, was New Zealand. We went there on a lightning tour previously, trying to pack as much in as possible and missing most. This time we had two weeks to slow down and concentrate on the most southerly part of South Island, which we never got to last year.
New Zealand
After the tourist hotspots of Te Anau (pronounced Tee Are Na) and Milford Sound (pronounced Milford Sound) we moved on to the quiet but splendid Southern Scenic Route which skirts the coast of ‘Southland’. Expansive, windy, deserted, sandy beaches reminded us of summer in the highlands, even though we were on the other side of the world. Gemstone beach was a particular favourite where if you’re lucky, you can pick up a variety of semi-precious stones. Garnet, Jasper, Quartz, Nephrite, Diorite, Argillite and Gneiss, I assumed were the current most popular baby names in the UK, but Leila reliably informed me they were the varieties of gems she’d found during her beach combing. People are permitted to take stones from the beach ‘within reason’, which I think someone in our party interpreted as ‘if it will fit in the luggage allowance’.
 |  |
Bluff is the southernmost town in mainland New Zealand and one of the earliest towns established by European settlers. Also famous for spawning games such as Blind Man’s and Call My. This is probably because they had a lot of time indoors playing games while sheltering from the excessively strong winds, which we experienced in the time we were there. As many people know, it was also the birthplace of both Frank Muir and Robert Robinson. (Again, you probably have to be of a certain age or google to understand the way my mind works).
 |  |
Situated at 46° south, Bluff is regularly buffeted by the ‘Roaring Forties’, which would be a skiffle group, but are in fact the strong westerly winds that occur in the Southern Hemisphere between the latitudes of 40° and 50° south. The sign at ‘Stirling Point’ indicates a mere 4,810km from the South Pole and 18,958km from London so it feels a long, long way from home.
Stewart Island (or Rakiura) is located 16 nautical miles south of the South Island, across the Foveaux Strait. The island is very hilly, densely forested and home to various native flightless birds, including Kiwis and penguins who thrive because there are few introduced predators. You are even asked to check your luggage and clothing for rats before travelling to the island to reduce the risk of invasive species, and after dutifully divesting ourselves of all secreted rodents (it’s amazing how many you collect in your pockets if you haven’t checked for a while) we made our way to the ferry terminal.
The wind by that time had got worse. The passengers disembarking from the early boat coming away from Stewart Island looked a pale shade of green and while a few were smiling, most just looked thankful to be on solid ground. The captain wasn’t any more reassuring during the safety briefing, cheerily informing us that it was ‘going to be a bumpy one’ and ‘make sure you have one of those natty little white bags handy at all times’. A fellow passenger said she’d heard putting an ear plug in your non-dominant ear is meant to help. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an ear plug, nor do I know which of my ears is dominant as I can’t remember them having a fight. In the end, I made do with putting my finger in my left ear to see if that would work.
The safety briefing continued, explaining how it was easy to tie the lifebelt round your waist with the crew member demonstrating, failing miserably, and having to get help to sort his straps out. They didn’t even mention the Great White Sharks that frequent these waters; after all, tying straps on his lifebelt didn’t help Robert Shaw from getting munched up.
All in all, I can’t say I felt very comfortable as we left the quay, but an hour and a small amount of ear wax later, we arrived safely at Stewart Island feeling like we’d been through a heavily soiled wash, spin and tumble dry. The finger in the ear method appeared to work, although Leila wisely took some sea sickness pills in advance. They did however, warn of a drowsiness side effect and I haven’t had a chance to ask if it affected her as she’s been asleep all afternoon.
 |
The main purpose for coming to Stewart Island was to see Kiwis in the wild. There are about 70,000 Kiwis left in New Zealand with 18,000 estimated to live on Stewart Island. We’d booked a wildlife safari with Kiwi Hunt in advance and at 7.40pm arrived in good time for our 8.00pm departure at the town wharf. 8.00pm came and went and by 8.10 we suspected something might be awry. We eventually established (after several phone calls and some advice from locals in the pub), that the booking agent had given us the wrong time and we were half an hour late. (We’ve since had a very sincere apology and refund). Some more scrambled phone calls from the bar staff and they managed to get us on a locally led Kiwi walk which started at 10.15pm (and half the price of the one we had previously booked on).
We were taken to the local airfield where the Kiwis often hang out. I was trying to work out why that would be and assumed it’s possibly because being flightless they have to catch a plane to go on holiday. The guide’s version was that the large grass fringes to the runway were a good feeding ground, but I thought my reasoning was far more likely. The signs weren’t good though, as the previous two nights had resulted in a single fleeting glimpse of a bird disappearing into the bushes. The Kiwi gods however smiled on us, and we saw 4 in total. Two chicks (as soon as they are hatched, they have to fend for themselves), one inquisitive male and one larger female. The male even came and pecked at my shoelaces, presumably to check if they were clean and tied up correctly. It’s said that only a small percentage of New Zealanders have seen a kiwi in the wild so we were very fortunate, and we subsequently heard that the trip we had been booked in never saw any either!
To be continued……
Comments