At Lochgilphead, a traveller , wishing to continue his journey, must decide North or South. You see, three roads meet at the bridge - the roads to Glasgow, to Campbeltown and to Oban. West is not an option. And so, the solitary runner turned to the North. By the time he reached the Beallach he had settled into a jaunty stride and the view from the top of the hill lifted his spirits and his step. On the loch side of the Tarmac, the old original road wound down, secretive and overgrown. Three local girls were practising cartwheels on the grassy slope. One turned towards him, laughing.
"Are you circus acrobats - are you travelling to the circus?" he asked hopefully.
The girl with dark eyes laughed again.
"No", she said "We're having a pic-nic"
Sometimes and in some places , and with the right sort of people, making fiends is easy and that is how it was. The girls shared what little pic- nic snacks they had brought and the sun shone down on a long, lazy afternoon.
"If you are interested in circuses" the girl said eventually, " I know where there's going to be one" and she pointed down to the cluster of little houses that rested among the white masts. Then, taking his hand, she lead part of the way, at least as far as the single track road that ran to the village.
