Last week, a little job took me to a wee Morayshire town I’d not visited in years.
On the way to Buckie, I was amazed at the amount of large, threatening lorries roaring along the A96 from Inverness eastwards. I couldn’t believe how much of it is single carriageway.
Convoys of these giant trucks, garishly promoting supermarkets, builders merchants and haulage outfits, were very intimidating, whether they were at the upper end of the speed limit or, like the ones ahead of me, at a snail’s pace for no apparent reason.
Crawling was causing serious tailbacks and also prompting dodgy driving at times from weary, delayed motorists who had hospital appointments, babies to feed and meals spoiling in the oven. Thankfully, the Google Maps phone thingy kept me updated on my estimated, computer-generated arrival time at Low Street in Buckie, so I was able to hands-free phone ahead to curse Transport Scotland for not fixing the road and to tell them I’d be late.
I wasn’t going to overtake anything with oncoming vehicles appearing so suddenly in the only overtaking lane available. I’m only half-daft, you know.
Maybe I shouldn’t write about it after the stooshie when I backed Fergus Ewing pushing for the A9 dualling. One SNP activist raged at me, saying that I was just a teuchter troublemaker backing the rebel Mr Ewing because he’d had a go at the Scottish Government.
As an islander, I knew nothing about mainland challenges, apparently. He told me to stick to what I know best – whingeing about CalMac. Listen, my miserable mate, I can do both. And I will.
Meanwhile, the really miserable sore running through much of Scotland is the A9 – that blacktopped reminder of how this Scottish Government has failed. Persuading many to vote for it with promises of how it would secure freedom from the toxicity of Westminster and how it would improve the lives of Scots, we have a neglected transport system, leaving a hugely-dangerous spinal route, a badly-managed, developing country-style ferry service, and an internal air service that you need a mortgage to use. All boxes still unticked.
The priority for anyone sane must be the killer A9. You don’t need to be a roads engineer to understand that fatal accidents are mostly head-on collisions. However, when a stretch is dualled with a fixed central reservation, the number of such accidents generally falls to zero. Exceptions are rare.
That should keep Scottish Government ministers, and their supporters, awake at night. The death toll on the Perth to Inverness stretch of the A9 has climbed to 335 since 1979. These uncaring politicians who in 2009 promised a £2 billion project to fix it by 2025 have done precious little. They now admit they can’t do it. By 2011, it was merely an “utmost priority” and the timeline fell to bits – like their election promises to us.
Campaigner Laura Hansler from Kincraig started the A9 Dual Action Group after hearing survivors and their families talking of the effect of these collisions. Laura has some scary statistics which should disturb every single Scot. She tells how, last year, 12 out of the 13 fatalities were as a result of multiple vehicle collisions on single-carriageway sections. Only one fatality was on a dualled section, and involved no other vehicle.
Hello. Doing nothing is killing people. In just three months, nine unsuspecting individuals lost their lives on the A9 within a distance of 28 miles, all on single-carriageway sections. Five of the tragedies were near each other, at the Slochd, within a few short weeks.
All my favourite pubs have disappeared
My visit to Buckie brought back memories. Long-favoured pubs have vanished. When you make a flying trip to a place, you’ve no time to visit anyone or, of course, to use their loo. So, as I was driving, I had the urge to find an hostelry for a wee soft one before heading back for the Skye ferry, as the Stornoway one was stowed out with campervans.
Well, the two pubs that I tried were no longer open. That one that was part of a hotel on the High Street is no more. At least I will get a Diet Coke and relief in the Harbour Bar down near the seafront. Dengit, and other expressions of Gaelic disgust. I bruised my knuckles knocking that door, thinking they’d slept in. Social media then told me it had closed a few months ago. What could I do?
I went to an alehouse I used to frequent
The reason was for my bladder to vent
The door I found locked so the answer was nay
But I found a bush near the beach
So I didn’t have to pay
And it’s no, nay, never…
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
