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ain't they though? Enough of city diaries, we tell ourselves. Let's

touch base with Nature, wear something stylish only in basic training,

and breathe air that has not come direct via a Dunhill filter as the

first day of spring approaches. So what is this white stuff falling in

lumps from the sky?

''Mar sin leibh'' (Goodbye), we say in a cheerful and

culturally-appropriate way to wife and child as we retreat to the car in

the face of Arctic-style blizzard whiteout nightmare conditions. At our

backs, Loch Duich and environs has disappeared like Brigadoon.

Indoors, there are rooms where you couldn't swing the Hunchback of

Notre Dame and a unique heating system: all the 50p pieces you have go

in one end and all the heat goes out the door. Wife and child now a

fetching shade of blue. Consult the Country Code. ''Guard against all

risk of fire,'' it says. No problem. Open emergency rations of M&S

ready-cooked and Chateauneuf du Pape.

* MARCH 19: ''Where to Walk'', a brochure issued by the Kintail

Mountain Rescue Team, proves useless. No mention of reputable taxi

firms; not a whiff of a good restaurant; absolutely no advice for the

man-about-town who has mislaid his town.

Something called the Mountain Code informs us, however, that ''Winter

conditions may extend from November to May and you should be adequately

equipped''. Institute immediate inventory of Pouilly Fume stocks and

throw another copy of Tom Shields Too -- the Wilderness Years on the

fire while pumping 50p pieces into a meter that seems to be drawing on

the entire national grid.

Beginning, however, to get the hang of the indigenous thing. As the

snow beats down and the chickens practise take off and landing

manoeuvres, we strike up a conversation with a native and get straight

to the point: ''Caite bheil an taigh-staile?'' (Where is the

distillery?)

* TRAPPED briefly in Kyle of Lochalsh, we take time to inspect work on

the widely-admired and hugely-popular new Skye Bridge. To those of us

lacking the perspicacity of the Prince of Wales in matters

architectural, it seems the monstrosity is making progress. Soon it will

be easy to get to Skye, which is not the point at all.

Undaunted, Kyleakin and Kylerhea Community Council has suggested that

Prince Haakon of Norway be invited to open the bridge. The thinking is

intriguing.

Why Norway? Legend has it that Castle Maoil at Kyleakin was built by

the daughter of a Norwegian king. The bridge connection? She levied

tolls on passing shipping, it is said, by stretching a chain from

Kyleakin to Kyle, ensuring that no-one could pass without paying up.

The new bridge's future operators have thus far made little of this

pioneering effort, perhaps because of the parallels, perhaps because the

woman in question was known as Saucy Mary.

* MARCH 20: ''Sunday, the Sabbath Day, is religiously observed in

certain parts of Skye, Lewis, Harris, and North Uist,'' says guidebook.

Wonder what other ways there are to observe Sunday? Guide presses on, as

though reporting outbreak of foot and mouth: ''Certain parts of the

mainland are also affected by the Sabbath . . .''

We know this. Having once been warned, on the adorably dull isle of

Scalpay, that hanging out washing on a Sunday was on a par with

fratricide, we take no chances and lock child in cupboard lest he breaks

into ''God Gave Rock and Roll to You'' while the sheep are listening.

Over on Skye itself, news breaks that the licensing board has moved to

abolish Hogmanay, or near enough. With the old year ending on a Saturday

in 1994, the board has denied appeals for licences to be extended to the

ungodly hour of 1am on Sunday. Plans to prohibit the twenty-first

century are thought to be well in hand.

Let no-one imagine, however, that there is no alternative. Had it not

been for a paralysing lack of interest we might have attended a Spring

Equinox Meditation at the Sligachan Hotel for an evening of ''earth

awareness''. The ad asks that we ''bring a torch and a small organic

offering, i.e., handful of grain . . .''

Obviously this works out cheaper than an electricity meter that eats

wallets but we remain puzzled by the invitation to telephone for

details. Don't they already know who's coming just by, uh, like, feeling

the vibes?

* THERE are risks in writing anthems dedicated to the motherland. You

may recall that Craig and Charlie Reid, otherwise the Proclaimers,

rounded off their hit Letter from America with a litany of industrial

disasters and the line ''Lochaber no more!''

Quite so. While other dates have sold out, the boys' Fort William

concert, scheduled for April 21, has been cancelled with only 100

tickets sold. There's Highland hospitality for you. The real horror is

that a performance by Daniel O'Donnel, Ireland's answer to music, has

sold out.

* MARCH 21: The fire gutters. We are down to our last veal in cream

sauce. Jack London fantasy growing apace. Wonder if I can still remember

how to fiddle a meter. Begin work on new volume, Touring Made Easy.

''Chapter One: Stay at Home''.