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Going up north

After the photographic feast that was the road to Glen Affric, I sat course for the "true north", the coastal road up to Wick. I'd gone it both ways before, but it was a few years since my last venture. Mostly, I didn't really go back to any of the previous places, largely on account of the rain pissing down most of the day. But I did visit the ole' Clootie Well on the Black Isle. That people in all seriousness can make avail of such a place in this day and age beggars belief and I can only hope it's one huge, ironical joke.

The beginnings of the area around the actual clootie well.
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Video of the whole sordid thing.
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Naturally, I was skeptical of the clootie well.
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In Wick, I had lunch at this strange combination of a diner/cafe and a casino. It had a dining section, but also a small booth where you could buy all manner of candy and there was a fairly large section in the back where different machines gave off a cacophony of insane sounds; everything from a mechanised sounds of children's laughter to "toot toot" train sounds best associated with old Disney cartoons. Not exactly the type of sounds that should accompany a meal.
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The burger I had was ok.
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