Angus Excursion

Two weeks off work and a three-night stay at Lunan Bay was on the agenda. It's a beautiful coastal spot between Arbroath and Montrose. We had stopped for a look on a previous drive and were enraptured by the sweeping contoured sands. A bunkhouse is conveniently located just minutes walk from the beach and a private room was quoted at £23 per night, with en-suite toilet and shower. We booked from Tuesday to Thursday when ample vacancies were available. Off we headed in the morning, following a dental appointment which I survived relatively unscathed - requiring just a small filling in the near future.

We arrived around lunchtime and pushed on an extra few miles to the nature reserve at Montrose Basin. The plan was to do a few hours birdwatching before checking into the accommodation, followed by an evening stroll along the beach. The tidal basin is part of the South Esk Estuary and a haven for wading birds when the seawater recedes. We had stopped here a couple of times in the past. The visitors centre is run by the Scottish Wildlife Trust which meant free entry as we pay our monthly membership dues by direct debit. We would most likely be popping in on more than one occasion during our stay. The viewing gallery is well equipped with telescopes and there is always a member of staff on hand to answer questions about the reserve and local wildlife. A small exhibition on the natural history of the area is worth a look and basic refreshments can be purchased in the shop. I wrote out a postcard to my folks, something I try to do whenever I'm away from home. It must be something of a dying art but a tangible message is always nicer than scrolling through pictures on social media. A handy postbox just outside the car park raised the prospect of the card beating me home!

We had hoped to catch sight of the kingfisher but he wasn't coming out to play. A heron ventured close to the hide, giving me the opportunity to take some nice pictures. A gangly bird, the heron has almost unlimited patience, standing in the same spot waiting for the chance to strike at passing prey. It was time to head down to the bunkhouse and we were perfectly happy with the accommodation on offer. Staying in hostels keeps costs down as you can cook your own meals in the communal kitchen. Another bonus is you usually get chatting to other people and they come from a wide range of backgrounds. Guests are by no means mainly student backpacker types. A large proportion of hostelers are firmly ensconced in middle age. It does irk me when people go on TripAdvisor and post negative reviews of accommodation that is perfectly acceptable for the price you pay. I'm happy to have somewhere clean and comfortable to lay my head after being out and about all day. The hostel was inside the large grounds of an adjacent guesthouse. A campsite was also part of the complex.

We headed out for a walk along the sands and were greeted by a well-fed pig in the next field. You don't often see swine outdoors in Scotland and this porker was given a spot on my Instagram feed - attracting a flood of likes. The Lunan Bay Diner is situated next to the large public car park and serves meals and snacks during the day. We took the wooden walkway through the dunes and suddenly the beach revealed itself. It truly is a spectacular sight. Gently curving sands against a backdrop of dunes and high cliffs. It is possible to walk around a mile unencumbered and we headed towards a promontory which appeared to have caves cutting into the rock face. Fortunately the tide was far enough out to proceed all the way and poke my head into the gloom. A steel railway viaduct carried the East Coast Main Line overhead and I couldn't help thinking this would be a good location to take a picture of a passing steam train - assuming they run specials up this way. The bird life was mainly limited to gulls but the beach itself was the main highlight and it was more or less deserted save the odd dog walker.

Back to the bunkhouse for a hot meal. Well, tubs of instant noodles to be precise. We could do a proper shop on our travels tomorrow. The room had a nice view across the guesthouse gardens and having en-suite is certainly a bonus, although I'm not one of these people who is fussy about using shared showers. Let's face it, you share the bathroom in a hotel room with all the folk who have previously stayed. I'm a lucky bugger who can sleep almost anywhere and after a good night's rest and a breakfast of porridge and banana, we set out for the day. I had researched a river walk starting in the village of Edzell, a place I'd never been to. En route I planned to halt at Bridge of Dun, the terminus of the Caledonian Heritage Railway. There were no trains scheduled but I fancied having a look around the station. I had travelled on the line a number of years ago with my dad. We boarded at Brechin and did the four-mile trip out to Bridge of Dun, taking the same train back. The option to visit the House of Dun - a huge mansion now owned by the National Trust - wasn't viable as it lies approximately one mile from the station and that was beyond Dad's physical capabilities.

I pulled over in a lay-by as I approached the tiny village and walked up to the road bridge over the line. Peering over the parapet. I had an excellent view of the station layout and resident rolling stock. Behind me, I could see the actual Bridge of Dun spanning the River South Esk. The grand structure dates from the 1800s and I had driven across it just minutes before. We drove into the station car park to turn around and I noticed a handful of guys working on a loco in the adjacent sidings. No doubt getting things ready for the run-up to Christmas. The Santa Specials attract families with young children and are a vital source of income for heritage operations up and down the land. Passenger services on the Brechin branch line ceased in 1952 but freight continued for another 30 years. Upon closure, a group of enthusiasts purchased a section of track and the heritage route as we know it today has been running since the mid-90s. There are several examples of former passenger routes closing down in the 80s after a lengthy spell as goods-only concerns. Frustratingly, if they'd clung on for a few more years they would have entered a political climate far more opposed to tearing up transport corridors.

Edzell had been recommended to me by a colleague and the charming village in northern Angus didn't disappoint. You enter through an elaborately constructed archway and Nicole managed to snap this with the latest iPhone camera as we approached. Smartphones may struggle with long distance shots but for close-up action they are capable of capturing a fine photograph. We stopped at a tea room and munched on a muffin filled with sausage and bacon which hit the spot. The river trail was easily accessible from the main street and we ventured on to the Shakkin' Brig - a suspension footbridge hung from steel ropes. It takes its name from the bouncing sensation you feel as you near the centre. Almost immediately, I spotted a dipper on a sandbank just below. It flew back and forth a few times before settling on a stony patch for a while. I was able to reel off a few photos and could probably have got closer but didn't want to scare it off. Dippers truly are remarkable creatures, standing upright underwater against strong currents as they fish. You are liable to spot them around fast-flowing rivers and streams.

We followed the path alongside the water for a few minutes before running up against a barrier. A recent landslip had forced the closure of the next mile and we decided to drive northwards and continue from there. The road crossed the river, bringing us into Kincardineshire. We squeezed into a muddy lay-by and passed through the fabled "blue door" - a gateway leading into the grounds of Burn House. A lovely tree-lined walk continues alongside the cascading North Esk. A stone staircase led down to the water's edge and I gingerly descended to view the high-arched Gannochy Bridge from below. A much better photo opportunity presented itself on the way back to the car, looking down on the swirling waters with the flanking foliage in full autumn blaze. A drive back down to Brechin was next on the list. I've been to the place many times for the football but that was always a case of jumping off the supporters bus and into the ground. I was looking forward to having a proper look at the town. The football club is called Brechin City and this is a nod to the fact a cathedral can be found here. There must be hundreds of thousands of people in England who have heard of Brechin due to the fact the team appears in footie fixtures and results.

The cathedral was compact and we strolled around the grounds with the feeling of being somewhat hemmed in. I stuck my head in the door to admire the stained glasswork. The highlight for me was the adjacent round tower, reckoned to have been built sometime in the 11th century. The only other example of such a structure in Scotland is in Abernethy, Perthshire. Moving on, I decided to have a look at the frontage of the old railway station in the town centre. Before the formation of British Rail, the Brechin line was part of the Caledonian Railway empire. A number of Angus routes were axed by the infamous Dr Beeching in the post-war cull. Short branch lines were swiftly pruned but a portion of the high-speed Perth to Aberdeen railway passed through the county and this was a major casualty in the area. Why would such a route be chopped? The answer lies in the historical development of the national rail network. Private companies often vied to outdo each other and it wasn't unusual to find two trunk lines roughly paralleling each other.

Brechin station still has the Caley insignia and a traditional clock set into the stonework. As the station closed to passengers shortly after nationalisation (and was probably being wound down before that), I'm assuming there was little appetite to re-brand the buildings and many original features were simply left in place. We went shopping for supplies at Lidl just down the road and headed back towards Lunan Bay. En route we passed by the House of Dun and were afforded a clear view of the huge mansion sitting in an elevated position well back from the road. The surrounding grounds were massive and it definitely looked like a place worth visiting in the future. Should I combine it with another excursion on the Caledonian Railway? Hmmm, let me think about that for two seconds. We stopped at Montrose Links and had a nice walk along the sweeping sands. I'll probably be back here too at some point as I've discovered a railway path that leads from the town up to the viaduct over the River North Esk. Back at the hostel, I feasted on a lovely hot meal of filled pasta with sausage and monitored the ever-changing Brexit situation on my iPad. A right mess we have created there.

As the evening dimmed we wandered down to the beach to observe the sunset. I love the orange effects in the sky and it usually makes for a good photograph. I wasn't to be disappointed and the image garnered a fair few likes on Instagram. I guess some folk obsess over social media and I do indulge a fair bit. To me it's a fantastic way of finding out what's going on in your locality and sharing images and words about your hobbies and interests across the world. I certainly have no qualms about putting my exploits out there for general consumption. I keep my personal and professional life under wraps and - barring the odd rant about our esteemed politicians or the declining state of Scottish football - tend not to go too heavy on the hectoring. A shower before bed was the order of the day as I planned to rise early the next morning and check out the nearby Red Castle before breakfast. The bathroom facilities were fine but why do shower cabins often not have a soap dish or caddy attached to the wall? Makes things a bit awkward and you end up balancing your bottle of gel or bar of soap precariously on the taps. I was indeed up with the larks and walked along the single-track road towards the castle. It sits on the clifftops and I didn't want to risk approaching from the beach and not find a suitable way of ascent, particularly as I would have to attempt a crossing of the Lunan Water.

A footpath climbed steeply up to the site of the castle and the morning sun illuminated the crumbling remains, showing exactly how the "Red" prefix was derived. I was already familiar with the Red Castle Brewery from Angus and now I knew a little bit more about the origin of the name. Fine views were available across the bay and I returned to the hostel for a hearty breakfast. We had scheduled a drive up the coast to St Cyrus nature reserve and beach. We had been there once before, hoping to catch sight of a whale that had been widely reported in the media. Despite hanging around for a few hours, the leviathan failed to show. We crossed the North Esk on the road viaduct which afforded a good view of the railway counterpart alongside - now a cycle path. The nature reserve lies on a strip of land between the sand dunes and overhanging cliffs, basically part of the Esk estuary, or rather not part of it anymore. I'll explain in due course. We had a look at the small exhibition inside the visitors centre and I saw a map of a one-mile circular trail. I decided to walk this while Nicole opted to head straight to the beach. The waymarked walk passed by a quirky sunken residential property that had previously been an icehouse for storing salmon. The first icehouse I ever encountered was a similar structure in Tentsmuir Forest, Fife. Basically like a large cottage built into the earth with a thick thatched roof poking out. Presumably the insulation enabled ice-packed fish to be kept for some time. This arrangement differs to the remains of icehouses I have encountered on former estates. In these cases the purpose was simply the luxury of storing chilled foods. A cylindrical buried stone chamber was filled with sea ice.

I passed an ancient graveyard before the path swung back towards the visitors centre. This final stretch followed the old course of the river which was dramatically altered following a 19th century storm. The water burst through the sand dunes and carved a new and more direct route to sea. The wooden walkway towards the beach crosses the shallow valley which is now occupied by vegetation since the water stopped flowing. After a wander on the sands, we drove up to St Cyrus village. I had spotted a café on Google Maps and it had recently reopened under new management. We had nice filled rolls and wrote postcards to Germany. Back to Lunan Bay and a plan was hatched to get up early on the final day to view the sunrise. Dinner was corned beef hash and we had an early night. On the beach the next morning, it struck me I'd never actually purposely gone somewhere to watch the sun come up. Of course it must have happened many times while I was driving or walking somewhere but today we were scanning the horizon waiting for the first shaft of light.

Up popped the beginnings of the ball of fire and it was a rewarding experience to watch the whole process, especially on a beach where there are no obstacles in the way. Back to the kitchen for a substantial breakfast as we discussed our plan for the homeward journey. First on the agenda was another visit to Montrose Basin to try and catch sight of that elusive kingfisher. I had wanted to view the Pictish stones at Aberlemno, near Brechin. Unfortunately I'd read online they are boxed up during the colder months to prevent further deterioration. Disappointing but at least it saved a wasted trip. We settled on stopping at the Signal Tower Museum in Arbroath and the River Eden nature reserve back in Fife. Surprise, surprise, there was no sighting of the colourful kingfisher but some compensation arrived in the form of the little egret. I enjoy watching this graceful all-white bird and have seen a few over the years. It brought to mind our first visit to an RSPB reserve while holidaying in Suffolk. We weren't particularly bothered about birds back then but decided to check the place out as it was close to the village where we were staying. I took some nice photos of an unidentified white bird in a pond.

A couple of years later we began to take an interest in bird life. I dimly recalled my Suffolk sighting and reckoned it must have been one of these egrets I could now recognise. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across the original photos and saw it was actually an avocet - the symbol for the RSPB and a bird rarely found up here in Scotland. And I saw it on my first birding expedition! Some twitchers largely eschew the reserves and prefer going out into the field. I think there is a place for all types of birdwatching. The purpose-built reserves do a lot of good conservation work and attract new people to the activity. Some of them may not progress beyond a token glimpse through a telescope while enjoying coffee and carrot cake in the café but it all helps to support a worthy cause. Sure, the popular reserves can be overrun with kiddies during the school holidays but it's certainly better for the youngsters to have a nature experience rather than being glued to an electronic device. Satisfied with my egret spot, we headed down the coast towards our next port of call. The Signal Tower Museum was a place I'd had on my list for years and since we would be driving past the entrance, it seemed logical to pop in for a look around, particularly as there is no admission charge.

The museum is housed within the former shore station for the Bell Rock Lighthouse. Dating from 1807, Bell Rock is the world's oldest surviving sea-washed lighthouse. As we entered, the museum attendant pointed out the location of the lighthouse 12 miles distant. It was just visible to the naked eye as a sliver on the horizon. The role of the signal tower was to communicate information about supplies with the lighthouse staff and ferry, as well as providing shore accommodation for the keepers and their families in the cottages at the rear of the courtyard. The tower became redundant in 1955 when the advent of the helicopter and the introduction of more powerful boats allowed Bell Rock to be administered from Leith. The lighthouse was manually operated until automation arrived in 1988. I wandered round the exhibition rooms, taking in the story of the construction of the lighthouse out in the North Sea, an incredibly difficult task. I always enjoy learning about the social history in addition to the more technical details and the museum did not disappoint in this respect. Apparently when Arbroath Harbour opened, men from the next village up the coast were forbidden by law to seek work at the new port as they were deemed to be the property of the local landowner. Serfdom/slavery (delete as appropriate). One amusing anecdote was the method used to signal the birth of a new baby in the days before radio broadcasts. A lighthouse keeper would learn he had just become a father by the hoisting of a pair of trousers or a dress back on the shore. How binary is that!

A photographic highlight of the museum was the spiral staircase inside the tower. Visitor access to the upper level is currently blocked but the entire wraparound staircase could be viewed from the basement. Some people don't like walking on spiral stairs, others click the like button compulsively when seeing a picture like the one to the left on social media. I've even heard of urban explorers who love seeking out grand old flights of steps. It was time to head back over the Tay and watch some birds. I do intend upon coming back to Arbroath at some point in the future to walk along the clifftops to the old fishing village of Auchmithie. Our next destination was Guardbridge on the River Eden estuary. The bird hide is located just beyond the former paper mill (now partly occupied by the Eden Mill brewery and distillery - a tour is recommended). A keycode is required to access the hide but there's usually someone there who can let you in. Otherwise you have to telephone the ranger for the combination. The building is heated and contains a toilet. Luxury indeed for the humble birdwatcher. The tidal estuary is a haven for wading birds who arrive in large numbers to feed on the mudflats.

We arrived with the tide fully in which isn't the best time for bird sightings. We did however see the rather comical sight of a cormorant taking off. It runs along the water for a few steps before launching itself into the air. Another bonus was the presence of a seal within easy viewing distance. It was in the process of devouring a fish and I took a couple of decent pictures. As the tide began to recede, the waders crept ever closer as they searched the mudflats and rock pools for food. The usual suspects were there: redshank, curlew and wigeon to name a few. Eventually it was time to head home, stopping at my parents on the way. It had been a great few days away on a budget and I think it's a positive sign if you manage to fill your days and in doing so discover even more things to potentially investigate next time around.

Independence March

I've always supported the idea of Scottish independence. I was inspired by Jim Sillar's legendary speech after winning the Govan by-election for the SNP in 1988 and have followed the party's fortunes ever since. One problem with our first past the post electoral system is medium-sized parties often achieve a respectable share of the vote but end up with a paltry number of seats. This dogged the SNP for decades. Aside from a purple patch in the mid-70s when 11 nationalist MP's were elected during the worldwide oil crisis, the SNP always seemed to have a token two or three representatives at Westminster. Meanwhile the Liberal Democrats fared better as they had identifiable pockets of support and therefore a bunch of seats to target. The nationalist vote was spread more uniformly.

Things started to change when Tony Blair's Labour government granted Scotland a devolved parliament in 1999. The early years of this institution were dominated by Labour but suddenly the SNP had a platform on which to debate purely Scottish matters. The voting system still relies upon electing a member to serve each of 73 geographical constituencies but there was an additional section on the ballot paper to specify support for an individual party. The resultant number crunching then awards 56 additional List MSP's to bring the total number of Holyrood representatives to 129 and thereby ensure a healthy degree of proportionality. By 2007, Alex Salmond was installed as First Minister when the Nats trumped Labour by a single seat. However, like the previous Labour-led administrations, the SNP did not enjoy a clear majority and were forced to work closely with other parties. This changed dramatically four years later when Salmond found his party in control of the house with 69 MSP's (despite only having 45% of the overall vote). Clearly there are quirks in the machine that sometimes work to your advantage. It swung the other way at the 2016 Holyrood election when the SNP actually increased their share of the vote but saw the seat count dip to 63 - back in minority administration territory, although still the biggest party by a long chalk. Which is where we are today.

Down in London, the SNP's representation had crept up to 6 MP's by the 2010 election. Following the party's major success at Holyrood the following year, support began to explode and 56 members were sensationally elected to the UK parliament from the 59 available Scottish seats. Of course, the only way from here was down and the 2017 snap election trimmed the numbers back to 35. If you had suggested either of these figures just a few years previously (coupled with the complete collapse of the Labour vote) you would have been dragged away by men in white coats! As the SNP was to discover, polling massive amounts of votes in the belief that Scotland is best run by a party purely focussed on Scottish matters is not quite the same as severing all ties with the United Kingdom. As we all know, the 2014 independence referendum saw 45% of Scots backing a breakaway. It seemed the question of a politically separate Scotland had been settled...until the Brexit malarkey reared its ugly head. A renewed call for independence has been galvanised and has grown in the wake of the narrow decision by the British public to split from the European Union.

I had been to an independence rally in Stirling around a year ago. On a warm summer day, we trooped from the town centre out to Bannockburn. It was a good-natured affair with an estimated 20,000 people taking part. A rally was held on Bannockburn Field where a stage and several stalls were set up. The music and speeches had a strong historical theme with frequent mentions of Bruce, Wallace and the Jacobites. All well and good I thought, but is this not a case of preaching to the converted? How do you attract new supporters by banging on about past centuries? What is the vision for the future? As it turned out, the Bannockburn bash was an annual event to commemorate the famous battle and the march had merely been tacked on. That cleared a few things up and there were actually couple of more progressive speeches, although I'm not sure if that label could be applied to Tommy Sheridan who was ranting loudly as we made our way to the exits. Finally to today's procession through the streets of Edinburgh. Nicole and I arrived by bus and we walked to the bottom of the Royal Mile.

The official start point was somewhere in Holyrood Park but a throng of people - led by motorcyclists - was already passing by and we watched part of the procession before finding a suitable gap and filtering into the mass. The pavements were lined with people watching the march and a fair few were hanging out of upper-storey windows. As we progressed uphill it became possible to look behind and gaze over the sea of Saltires. The Lion Rampant was also flying proudly and several Catalonian flags could be spotted. I must say at this point that I'm not in favour of declaring a Scottish republic. We are an ancient kingdom whose crown was united with England 1603. Political union came over a century later. That - in my opinion - is what must be reversed. The royal heritage is sacrosanct. There were a couple of pauses in the proceedings as the police were halting people periodically to allow traffic to pass across the Royal Mile. As we neared St Giles Cathedral, the unionist counter-protest unveiled itself. Around a hundred brave souls enthusiastically waved Union Jacks and the police afforded considerable protection. Not that any potentially disorderly situations were in evidence.

By this time the rain was falling and as we approached King George IV Bridge, Nicole and I decided to step out and grab a bite to eat. The priority was to saunter back downhill and seek out the ice-cream parlour we'd passed on the way up. It also allowed us to better appreciate the scale of the event as waves of marchers continued to stream in the opposite direction. I found a couple of vantage points to take photos and eventually we met the tail-end. A large group of people had unfolded a huge Saltire banner and it was a fitting way to bookend the march. We found a spare table in the café and ordered tubs of deliciously smooth gelato. It also gave us the chance to dry off a bit and upload the obligatory pictures to Facebook and Instagram. Things had now quietened down on the streets and we popped into a souvenir shop for a browse. The proprietor - an American lady - said she'd heard 200,000 people had marched. Crowd estimates for these gatherings vary wildly depending on what you read or who you talk to. This in itself has political clout. Personally, my estimate was around the 100,000 mark - purely a hunch based on my own experience of huge football attendances. Anyway, it was dinnertime and we made a beeline for Yes Sushi.

Let's blow a common assumption out the water - Sushi is not limited to raw fish. In fact a wide variety of options are available, including vegetarian. We opted for the buffet (you have to ask for the menu). All you can eat for £22.99. The price includes tea or coffee and there are a couple of sushi sets that may only be ordered once. Two starter options and a desert were permitted. I felt this offered value as you're guaranteed a good feed and just over twenty quid for a meal in the middle of Edinburgh is pretty reasonable in my book. It was with a bellyful of rice we waddled back to the bus station. A fitting end to the marching season and a strong show of support for the cause. Apparently research has shown if 3% of a population protest on a regular basis then it leads to inevitable change. Let's hope the theory is watertight! The usual debates raged on social media but what can't be denied is the Indyref2 movement is gaining momentum. Will it run out of steam or will a tipping point be reached? Only time will tell.

River Almond Walkway

Cramond is a charming village to the northwest of Edinburgh. Most people these days would regard it as a suburb of the city and it has been under the auspices of the Edinburgh Corporation (a forerunner of the modern city council) since 1920. The settlement lies on the Firth of Forth and the tidal Cramond Island lies just off the foreshore, linked to the mainland by a causeway constructed during the Second World War as a defence measure.

Despite the fact the tide times are prominently displayed and almost certainly err heavily on the side of caution, around 50 people each year find themselves cut off. I had been out to the island before and today wanted to concentrate on following the River Almond upstream along the purpose built path. The Almond flows into the Forth at Cramond and is the traditional boundary between the counties of West Lothian and Midlothian. As you might expect, Cramond gets very busy at weekends and I therefore set out early to ensure a parking spot close to the shore. I was due to collect my parents and sister from Edinburgh Airport in the afternoon and didn't want to find myself struggling for time. I had a scout around the beach which is a site of historic interest - Roman artefacts have been found here. I headed over to the Almond estuary and began following the water against the flow. It's an easy path to follow and there are a couple of weirs and the remains of an old mill.

The route passed under the A90 and became very muddy due to the wide path having been churned up by bike tyres in several places. The popularity of off-road cycling has a downside. It's fine on firmly laid surfaces but earth paths seem vulnerable to swift erosion. However, I had my boots on so it caused no real problem to me. I left the river and entered the Cammo Estate - a semi-wild nature park run by Edinburgh council since 1980. I strolled through a meadow buzzing with insects and birdsong. An informal network of paths took me across the plain as a different type of plane roared overhead. The estate sits directly under the flightpath for Edinburgh Airport. The old house is now a ruin, having been torched by vandals in the 70s. The area is obviously popular with families and it's nice to see an alternative to simple expanses of grass or manicured gardens. An urbex edge was added by the presence of an abandoned stable block. I also wanted to seek out the path to Cammo Tower. I climbed the little hill behind the tower which gave a better perspective for a photo, rather than ground level looking up.

I returned to the car via the streets and set off for the airport, stopping for a bite to eat at Burger King. I was on a partial veggie kick and plumped for the bean burger. Nothing special, a crumbly texture and rather heavy on the processed cheese. My disappointment was assuaged by the unlimited drinks refills that were available. The Royal Highland Show grounds were being prepared as I approached the airport and the little side roads were blocked off. I actually worked my first ever proper shift here back in 1989 as a kitchen hand on the princely pay of £2.50 per hour. Tax free student status too! Due to the inaccessibility of the little country lanes, I couldn't employ my usual strategy of waiting discretely in a quiet spot until a text message comes through to say my passengers have disembarked. The airport parking rates increase exponentially once you stay beyond a token 20 minutes and I try to beat the system in any way I can. This time I had to bite the bullet and wait patiently in the arrivals hall. My folks and Linda arrived safely and it was back to mum & dad's to hear the usual holiday tales.