In reply to Colin Moody:
Forty years ago I lived in Easter Ross. Pat's wife, also called Pat, worked nearby, and the two of them called in for a cup of tea and a chat one time when Pat was over from Skye.
Fast forward to around fifteen years ago, and I was coming down off Ben A'an at dusk, having had an evening constitutional and a few solos, when I saw this short and somewhat cubic and thoroughly disreputable-looking figure coming up the path, tightly clutching a red can of what I took to be McEwan's Export. Looked like a jakey. I was a bit concerned as it was about to get dark and it would be possible to get into trouble up there on your own if you were pissed. So I paused to have a chat. Said he knew the hill - used to climb on it long ago - knew a wee cave where he could spend the night. Turned out this wee guy had been hitching down from Skye to Clydebank, and the nice lass that was giving him a lift offered to divert from her route to drop him at Ben A'an. Well, he was gasping for a drink, so, as you would, popped into the adjacent hotel. Bit posh, he thought. Tried to buy a drink. Sorry sir, but you need to be a member. (It's now a Holiday Bond property). However, he talked a wee kid into buying him a Coca Cola. Which he was now clutching in his mitts.
Well, by this time the penny was slowly dropping with me. So when he started to move on I said "Take care Pat". He stopped and said "How do you know my name?". I said, well its like this.....
We then started on a series of yarns, with me leading him on. I knew I should have written them when I got home. But I didn't.