Off to Scapa Flow!

(This blog of Scapa Flow is not meant as a tourist guide, and factual accuracy is not guaranteed, in fact it is often mislaid.)
D-Day! And we lay in bed drinking coffee and contemplating the seventeen hour drive ahead of us with mounting anxiety as the radio news hammered on about all the accidents on the M25.

At 10.30, nine of us plus dive kit, clothes and kitchen sink all crammed into a minibus and set off on our grand adventure. Cast members at this point were as follows; Adrian (or Ade), Chris, me (Lynn), Phil W (henceforth known as Phil), Little John (the only non-diver and Steve’s dad), Steve (with his nice mid-English accent), Dameon, Richard and Phil J (henceforth known as Joss so as not to get confused with Phil).

Traffic wasn’t even considerate enough to let us get onto the M25 unhindered. The instant we hit the M2 we were nose to tail in our first traffic jam; getting onto the M25. Then there was the M25 itself and pretty much every motorway right up until we reached the Penrith/Carlisle sort of area.

The one nice thing about service stations is that they are all exactly the same. Which means if you see this really, really snugly travel pillow thing in one, if you still want it three hours down the road at the next, you can get it.

The second half of the journey was smooth sailing and the drivers, Adrian and Chris, both did incredibly well throughout, especially through the twisty turny roads and roundabouts of the wilds of northern Scotland, to our interim destination of Scrabster. It was a smooth ride, aside from one small incident involving mass suicidal rabbits, and Adrian being headlined as the Bunny Murderer (one bunny, both front and rear tyres). Oh yeah. And the roundabout that pounced out of nowhere and required a bit of gas before the brakes were located.