THE plane from Dublin to Prestwick was full last Friday as, apparently, it is most of the time. This surprised me. "It's very cheap you see, said a young man. Yes, this is true, but would that be enough to send you oft to the west coast of Scotland, just because it was a bargain?
I used to know someone years ago who always travelled on the "light leg" of a charter because he couldn't bear to think of the plane going back empty with seats for half nothing. He saw nothing, didn't know where he was most of the time, but he Got Value.
I didn't know people still did that sort of thing.
They don't, really. The people going to Scotland had a purpose. One was a girl who works in a pub in Glasgow over the weekend. She saw no reason to tell anyone that she lived in Dublin and had a different job during the week. Just checked in Friday night and worked more or less non stop until she came back again on Monday morning.
Sometimes the punters ask her does she miss Ireland and how long ago did she leave? She doesn't worry them by saying she didn't leave and that she's still living there, actually. It doesn't do to confuse people when they're drinking.
There was a man who goes over to see his daughter every second weekend. She pays his fare for him and it's great altogether. She and her husband have two babies and they love to go out on a Friday night, so while they go out with friends, he minds a total of five children for them all. Then on Saturday morning he minds the children again, while the couples go shopping, and in the afternoon he goes to a match and for a pint with his son in law. On Sunday they have a big family dinner in the middle of the day and he comes home again that evening delighted with himself.
There was a girl going over to buy material in a discount place for a wedding. She's making all the dresses - for the flower girls and all - and the stuff will only cost half the price over there.
There was a couple going over to play bridge with English people they had met on a holiday. In one of the minimalist gaps between "Three hearts and I think we'll go for a grand slam partner," it had emerged that neither couple had ever been to Scotland, hence the week in a guest house that was coming up.
There were two biceps sort of people who had loaded their bikes in the hold; there were four teachers going on a course, and there was a man who said it was a diabolical liberty being asked why he was going to Scotland? And I said huffily that I didn't care at all, I had only asked him because I feared he might feel left out, that I knew perfectly well he was a sales executive going home after a tiring week in Dublin. And then, of course, he was mad to tell me that he was nothing of the sort, he was a singer and he was going to a talent contest and he was nervous as a cat.
And the man beside him said that he was going to look at deer. Nothing but deer.
"They are lovely," I agreed with a soppy Bambi loving smile.
"Very lean too, no wasted fat, no Mad Cow disease either," he said approvingly.
I WAS going to see friends who live near Girvan. The countryside was magical new lambs coming to the fences to study the traffic roaring by and all the daffodils still out and waving because it's so much further north. The evening sun was shining on the sea and the hills of Antrim were purple in the distance behind a bright orange sky.
The fields were full of big fat pheasants picking and scratching happily at the ground. They don't have much memory of all that awful crackling sound that spells their doom, I thought, dying to send them a signal that they should hide. But apparently this is one of the times of the year when they are protected by law against having gunshot fired into their poor little necks and somewhere in a pheasant's psyche there is a calculator telling them that it is safe in May to walk confident and proud. A likely tale.
I'd like someone to go back and walk this bit of land on August 12th and see whether the calculator had worked and if the poor pheasants had all got the message and hidden themselves away.
I MET a lot of grand people during the weekend, including a man who will be a Tory candidate for a seat next time round. An extremely pleasant person, as it happens, without many illusions about the fight ahead of him.
He was very funny about some of the Conservatives' battle plans and advice on how to implement them. Tories are being urged to get into public debate and sparring matches with sitting, MPs so that they will have high profiles when the time comes and people will know who they are on polling day.
This is the message delivered by the party's chairman, Brian Mawhinney, and not a bad idea, he thinks, but not strictly useful in his own case where the sitting member is actually a Tory, and a barney between hopeful incomer and respected resigning incumbent isn't necessarily what they had in mind.
During the conversation he happened to mention that he was pleased that the law against stalking had been passed. One of the number went ashen, the blood literally drained from his face.
"They've banned deer stalking?" he said in a shaking voice.
When he was told that it was only women, he recovered his colour and his good humour and saw his future as nature intended it to be.
THERE was a garden open to the public where people paid £1.50 to look at the plants. Two young people came in, a lot of leather jacket, much nose jewellery, a hint of tattoo, not what the house and garden owners thought of as typical Sunday afternoon tour material.
But you don't have dress code for these things, and they seemed very eager and wasn't there a hint of snobbery about their views? Why shouldn't flower lovers come in every guise?
Yes.
The couple had a camera with 36 exposures. All of these were used photographing the house from different angles. It was thought that an inordinate amount of photography focused on the burglar alarm and the places one could get a foothold. But, of course, this was sheer paranoia. It's perfectly normal for people to come to an open garden and take three dozen pictures, not of each other against a background of flowers, not of any of the unusual species or of the beautifully mowed lawn ... it really would be idiotic to get window bars and start whimpering to the local fuzz because people came at your invitation, paid their £1.50 and didn't seem too interested in the flowers . . .