BARE WITNESS : Alan Taylor's Diary TO EASY RIDGE

0 Comments | Sunday Herald, The, Nov 30, 2003 | by Alan Taylor

TRAIL magazine, which tells hikers where to go, has got itself into a spot of bother by suggesting that the Lairig Ghru is a stroll in the park. The words "mountain" and "molehill" spring predictably to mind.

Among those incensed by this appalling libel is Sir Christopher Bonington who won his mountaineering spurs in the Scottish hills trying to keep up with the likes of Hamish MacInnes. Now nearly 70, Sir Chris, a veteran of several Everest expeditions, has gone safety crazy and demanded that the magazine print a retraction. Goodness knows why, since Trail is not a magazine aimed at those who couldn't walk up an escalator. If its readers can't tell the difference between a serious lump of rock and a grassy knoll, who can?

As it happens, I have myself traversed the Lairig Ghru, from Blair Atholl to Aviemore, including a night's free B&B under the Shelter Stone at the top of the pass, and another in the Corrour Bothy, which had a delux mud floor, custom-made corrugated tin roof and en suite bucket. We appreciated such luxury in the 1930s. By the time we arrived at the bothy it was dark and the monsoon season had begun. Imagine my surprise, then, to discover that a couple were already in residence and enjoying what can only be described as a romantic encounter. Both were public school kids, the lad being - like Alastair Darling and Norman Lamont - a Lorettonian. Is this a detail too far?

Age-old problem of inaccuracy

HOW old is BBC Scotland? The answer, according to the Beeb, is 80. This fact is disputed, however, by no less an authority than Allan Brown, the poor man's AA Gill, who is to be found lurking on the back page of the Sunday Times's Ecosse section. Mr Brown, who from his picture byline seems to have his finger stuck permanently in his ear, says BBC Scotland celebrated its 75th anniversary last week. He's just five years too late. Perhaps - given the finger in the ear - he misheard and confused BBC Scotland with BBC Radio Scotland which last week celebrated its 25th birthday. Assuming that BBC Scotland is 75, Mr Brown warned that that is the age at which dementia is most likely to strike. In his case, I fear, it may have struck a little earlier.

Why shooting isn't good enough

IF anyone asked you in the normal course of things whether you'd like to put your head up another man's backside, I don't suppose most of you would be too pleased. Yet here we are preparing almost to canonise a group of men for doing just that. I am referring, of course, to the English rugby team which last week won the "World Cup" despite the fact that three-quarters of the world doesn't play rugby because they might get arrested.

Be that as it may. To paraphrase Miss Jean Brodie: for those who like that kind of thing that is the kind of thing they like. As do the South Africans who tumbled out of the World Cup after encountering the All Blacks. Since then, however, the South African players have been increasingly vocal about their pre-tournament treatment which they say - the petals! - was unduly severe.

In order to instil team spirit, the South African Rugby Football Union took the squad to Kamp Staaldraad ("Camp Barbed Wire") where they were ordered to strip naked and "leopard-crawl" across gravel. After that they were taken into the bush where they had to do physical labour, carry tyres, poles and bags, all branded with England and New Zealand flags. During one exercise at the night, the players had to cook a chicken and boil an egg but they were not allowed to eat them. The next morning the eggs were cracked on their heads to test if they were cooked.

You may say: what has this got to do with rugby, and for once you could be right. Another test involved players cramming into small holes (how small can a hole be if it can accommodate a rugby player?) and being doused with cold water while singing God Save The Queen, as if the poor woman doesn't have enough to deal with. Coach Rudolf Straeuli said the object was to "sort out our huge problems" and denied that guns were routinely pointed at players. "The only times guns were used," he said, "was at the start of an exercise and to wake us up." Writs, I believe, are in the post.

What the Dickens is the Hootsmon up to

CONGRATULATIONS to the Hootsmon for signing up Sandy McCall Smith to write a "daily novel", which will run for five days a week for six months next year. Mr McCall Smith, author of a celebrated series featuring a lady detective set in Botswana, says he purloined the idea from my old chum Armistead Maupin, whose Tales Of The City columns about the gay community in San Francisco spawned umpteen successful books and television programmes. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Mr McCall Smith could do the same for the capital's gays? Meanwhile, the Hootsmon is delighted to champion the serial novel, which was such a hit in the 19th century. "Perhaps," writes the paper's bicycling books editor, "we've all forgotten the delights of serial fiction, to which even its enemies were eventually won over." I know the Hootsmon's readership is increasingly ancient but surely none of them remembers 1839 when - according to the paper with the motto "It's Thinking Time" - "the serial revolution, led by Dickens, was just getting into swing".