Hardeep is your love: Travel travails lay siege to my Fort William jaunt

I was off up to Fort William late last week. I had to be there for a wee bit of work and complicated plans had been drawn up that would get my backside there by 7.30pm. I was very excited. I have never before seen the Fort and was very much looking forward to meeting William. I thought I might regale you with my initial impressions of the hielan toon and its folk. Instead I am forced to share with you the disastrous travel arrangements I became embroiled in.

1 Left my wallet at home. Had to go back and get it; missed the train.

||1110|| Put my iPod on while on the train to the airport and missed my stop. Ended up in Brighton.

||98|| Had to get the train back to Victoria and then take a taxi motorbike over to Heathrow to catch a 1635 flight to Glasgow.

||76|| Got in a car at Glasgow Airport and hared it up the road to Fort William.

I've had more relaxing days.

Caledonia dreamin': there goes that song again

"LET me tell you that I love you, that I think about you all the time. Caledonia you're calling me and now I'm going home…" I love that song. I know it is criticised for being schmaltzy and over-romantic and sentimental, but I love it. And given that this is Homecoming year, no doubt we will be hearing it quite a lot. Like most people, I first came across it nearly 20 years ago when it was used to sell overly fizzy Scottish lager. The story of the advert was one of a young Scot lost in the dwam of London. Our hero struggled with the Tube, the pollution, the rudeness, the over-population and the incessant drudgery of England's capital city. Until one day he snapped: he packed it all in and, shorn of briefcase and suit, found himself buying a newspaper in Edinburgh, all his sadness evaporated. He entered a very plush bar where he found himself sharing a pint of the aforementioned over-fizzy lager with some friends as they laughed heartily.

All those years ago when the young me was watching the ad, I never would have thought that it would be the contemporary me that struggles with a life in London and looks forward to a return hame whenever possible.

As I get older, I cherish my trips back to Scotland more and more, just like the words of Dougie MacLean: "If I should become a stranger, you know that it would make me more than sad; Caledonia's been everything I've ever had…" There's no place like home; especially when you aren't there.

Chieftain of the puddin' racegets a bellyful of good cheer

It may not have been the most traditional of Burns Suppers but last Sunday I decided to cook roast belly of pork for lunch. I'm sure the Bard would have approved since there was a wee bit of haggis to accompany the pig meat.

Ordinarily I'd pop the pork into a fast oven for a couple of hours and let the heat and herbs lead the meat in their merry dance. But I decided to try something a wee bit different this time. At midnight on Saturday the meat was placed into the gentlest of ovens. Nestled around it was thyme, some onion, carrots and a good glug of Riesling.

Having checked, double checked and triple checked the heat of the oven, I repaired to bed, my mind racing with the next day's possibilities. As I lay trying to sleep, imagining how tender the 13-hour cooked belly would be, I imagined a spicy, sharp, fruity rhubarb jam to accompany the pork. Red wine vinegar, brown sugar, chillies, a sliced red onion: all combined and reduced to create a sweet, thick and jammy accompaniment to the meat.

And what meat! The flesh falls away from itself as you eat. The rich, fatty deliciousness coats the inside of your mouth. The complex rhubarb concoction cuts through the richness of the pork, cleansing the palate in preparation for the next joyous mouthful. It was almost poetic. And the haggis wisnae bad either. A fitting meal to honour our national poet.

Faith in their belief that there's a place beyond the pain

Death lies ahead for us all, but it can be hard subject to face. Even as folk approach their natural life's end and are mentally prepared to shuffle off this mortal coil, it isn't easy for those left behind to cope with the loss. Perhaps it's a sign that I'm growing up, growing old, but I seem to spend more of my life in crematoriums and churches, saying goodbye.

The passing of near and dear is somehow explained by the constant regeneration of humankind, a necessary evil that is an intrinsic part of our very existence. For many it is an opportunity to strengthen one's resolve with one's confidence in a higher power; one's faith, one's belief.

Last week my resolve in that higher power, my faith, my belief, was tested to breaking point.

I attended the cremation of a woman called Sonal. She had been a daughter, a sister, a mother and a friend to a roomful of people. I had met her twice. Just twice, yet even so I recognised an undying light in her, a special something. When I met her late last summer her body had already been riddled with cancer. She had swung to and from death, the prognosis didn't look good. Yet she was all smiles, sparkly-eyed and full of life. She had an 18-month-old daughter. Sonal had so much to live for.

She died last week, plucked thoughtlessly from this world. Sonal was 28 years old. Her parents had to watch her die, painfully and slowly. No parent should have to endure that. Sonal's daughter will grow up being told about her mother, not properly knowing her. No daughter ought to endure that.

As I looked around that room I was angry. I felt spent myself of any belief, of any faith, of any sense of justice. It didn't make any sense that this woman, at this time had to be taken.

No doubt we can all relate instances when we have felt the same. Through my anger, my frustration, I heard and saw the strength of a family that had been torn apart by their loss. Somehow they were able to make sense of events, to hold their heads high and endure. They believed. They believed that Sonal's soul would be freed of temporal pain, that she would be content in another place. Whatever it was they believed, they believed. I have to confess that the rational side of my mind struggles with notions of an afterlife, of another place. But maybe that's because I am not tested regularly or tested deeply in my belief. And maybe it's not what I believe that actually matters but that I believe in other people's belief. Maybe that's enough.