Friday morning was fine and dry.
Just in case, I pinched myself, made as sure as I could that I wasn't in some kind of parallel universe and looked again. Fine and dry.
So off we went to breakfast at Morrison's: a mammoth 6 minute journey. After fuelling ourselves and our cars, we headed for the Firths on the A82.
The drive was mostly uneventful - though some of us had fun with some of the place names, notably Dun[batman and]robin Castle.
We also had the odd nutter trying to overtake the entire convoy, as if we were doing 30 rather than close to the speed limit, particularly around Helmsdale (a fantastic descent and hill climb). In fact, we got all the way to the toilet stop at Lybster without incident, and then went down to the harbour for photos.
Then it was back on the A9 towards Wick and John O'Groats, which is apparently named after Jan de Groot, a Dutch ferryman from the 1400s.
We reached John O'Groats and quickly lined up on the start/finish line for photos, then had a good look in the souvenir shops which all had the standard tat in them.
A short while later we reversed our route to head back to Inverness. Along the way, in addition to the usual "are we there yet" routine (see below) a new word was termed to describe the Transit driver trying to get himself and other road users killed: Vanker.
Eventually we arrived back in Inverness, ready for our takeaways and some (alcoholic) refreshments. Paul and I cracked open the rather chewy looking Ostler's scrumpy we'd bought in Westward Ho and had been saving for tonight.
Well, that's about it; after a few well presented speeches we tucked in to our takeaways and carried on the noisy entertainment well into the near-dark that is midnight in Northern Scotland.
As for completing our journey:
Baz: "are we nearly there yet?"
Me: "Just round the next corner..."
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