The thought that I had only a little while to still work was uplifting, and the days passed quite fast and without much incident.
We had decided that to take the ferry from Oban was just to expensive, so we worked out the best route to get to the Corran ferry, where the first crossing lasted only about ten minutes, but then there was another crossing at Strontian, which lasted about twenty minutes.
So we decided to take the a82 through Tyndrum and on to where the road made a split, one going to Oban, the other one to Fort William, but we had to turn off just after Glencoe to get to the Corran Ferry.
Of course I again sat dying from Benny's horrific breath being blown into my neck, so the window was wide open so that the fresh air could benefit both me and poor Benny.
Our first stop was at Tyndrum, where we had coffee and breakfast, and where I got so cross with the food we were served that Liz had her work cut out to quieten me, as she was also one of the people who never complained in a restaurant when the service is bad. I do not mind paying, but then I expect a decent meal, and as I was a chef myself, I really detest it to be served inedible food. We ordered french toast with mushrooms and a sausage, but my tummy made a bally summersault when the food came! Everything was swimming in a sea of thick, dirty oil, and as I always had a bit of trouble with my liver, I felt a nasty nausea rising in me.
One thing I could never understand about the Scots, were their love of deepfrying just about everything. Even the sausages were dropped into the deepfryers, making it even more oily than it already was. We had decided, on me and Anna first starting to do breakfast, that when we cooked, it would be properly fried sausages, and I never strayed from that path.
So with Liz getting all stressed up about me wanting to complain, I took my napkin and wiped off all the oil, grumbling under my breath, but as I was hungry, I ate the cleaned up sausage and the mushrooms, but as the french toast was oozing oil, I balked at the idea of getting that down my throat.
With the dogs watered and de-watered, we took to the road again, but my breakfast that had left me a bitty nauseous, started to make me feel really bad, as Benny's breathing was becoming quite laboured, and of course it was blown into my neck, because he always stood with his paws on my back seat, as Liz refused to open the back windows in case her wee animals jumped out. I have never before smelled anything that came near the hideous smell of that little dog's breath!
We had to wait a few minutes for the Corran ferry, and the poor dogs had a wee respite, but all too soon we had to get into the car and onto the ferry.
We then had to take the A861 to Strontian for out next crossing that lasted only about twenty minutes, and voila, we were let of at Fishnish, a few miles from the pier at Craignure where the big Caledonian-  mcBrayne ferries put down their passengers and cars from Oban.
In the top picture we were waiting for the small ferry.