Disgusting behaviour! DAY SIX

This post is one that offers a profound apology.

Although travelling an amazing 213 miles today to reach Perth, it’s a post that is not event-ridden with experiences of standing on a road, thumb raised skyward, frozen to the bone, anxiously awaiting a lift. It’s not even a post about having to walk miles to find a suitably situated hitchhiking spot. It’s  a post immersed in guilt!

Although having travelled that amazing 213 miles, that distance was achieved not by sticking a thumb out, no! That distance was achieved from a conversation I had with a chap in a bar. Gleaned in what I consider, illegitimate means. And for that I’m sorry. Let me explain.

After Sonia and Robert dropped me off at Wick, I found a small pub/hotel for the night. Later that evening I decided to have a drink. The bar was fairly busy, with most people speaking in a dialect that was unintelligible. Then a man stood at the bar and ordered a drink in an accent that indicated he wasn’t from these parts. He sat next to me and I struck up a conversation. Inanely stating; ” Evening. You don’t sound as you’re a local.” “No” he replied.  “I’m from Plympton in Devon“. Gulping on my drink, I nearly fell off my chair!! Surely I couldn’t pull off a 480 mile lift simply by a chat with a stranger could I?

No, I couldn’t!

Gathering composure, I told him that I too came from Devon, then told him what I was up to and that I was hitching (and itching) to get back home. The man now known as Steve, about 45, seemed suitably impressed.

So indeed, the following morning Steve transported me to Perth.

The trip itself went smoothly enough. We shared good conversation. Steve, who preferred not to be photo’d, was charming and chatty but, with Top Hat and tails, as I, slightly frayed round the edges, for the majority of the journey, I fell asleep!!

Now can asking a bloke in a bar for a lift be in any way construed as hitchhiking? I don’t think so. And for that, I profusely apologise. If it helps at all, when Steve and I met in the car park that morning, I did, jokingly, stick my thumb up and said; “Any chance of a lift to Perth mate?” And also now, Saturday at 7am, just as I leave my hotel in Perth heading for the A93, I WILL be walking a couple of miles to find a decent spot for hitchhiking, I WILL be bearing the Scottish cold and I WILL be legitimately sticking my thumb in the air to, hopefully, get me further South. I do so hope that this mitigates, in some way, the treacherous means of obtaining my last lift and puts the sorry saga behind us.

Thanks for your understanding.

So, fingers crossed (thumb busy), my next post will see me in England.