Aviemore: we are made to feel as welcome as a Christian in Saudi Arabia

Living in Aviemore, Scotland
Living in Aviemore, Scotland

My bonnie wee lassie and I have stayed in Aviemore on several occasions when visiting the Highlands. Considering the local countryside is among the most pristine in Europe, it is strange that Aviemore was not designed to be even slightly sympathetic to its surroundings.

As human beings we have been blessed, by whatever created us, with a thing called choice. Why the *ck then, may I ask, did the people who built this godforsaken town choose to build everything in grey concrete and pebbledash??

The main hotel in Aviemore looks more like a huge block of council flats, the estates on the outskirts are little more than ghettos and the amenities on offer (considering this is one of Scotland’s prime tourist towns) are frankly a bit ****.

How grim is your Postcode?

The people of Aviemore are unfriendly to say the least and we are always made to feel as welcome as a Christian in Saudi Arabia. I know the Scots don’t like English people because we have a better economy/lifestyle/culture or whatever but jeez . . .

And don’t even get me started on the accent, which is so utterly alien to me that they may as well be speaking Vietnamese.

The first time we stayed at one of the local holiday parks, the creature that greeted us was just a pure cliché of a Scottish person. Red hair, freckles and a look in her eyes that suggested a life filled with hardship and large portions of haggis.

Our initial conversation would have benefited from a translator. As she sprayed words at me filled with ‘ochs’ ‘nays’ and ‘doons’ I could do little but stand there and nod my head in complete incomprehension.

The local youth spend their days peddling around on their BMX’s, drinking yazoo milkshakes, lucozade, iron bru and other staples of the **** diet.

Talking of diets, Scotland is the only country on the planet with worse cuisine than England. The chefs are among the most poorly qualified in the world, and as long as you have ‘can open a tin’ on your CV, then you are classed as a chef.

One restaurant in Aviemore gave me particular cause for despair. I shan’t name it (although I desperately want to). This was a real old fashioned establishment, full of Scottish emblems; stags on walls, blokes in kilts and tartan all over the f*cking place. I can only describe what I was served at this dive as a ‘plateful of nonsense’. Seriously, one of the worst meals I have ever eaten. Veg out of a tin, potatoes out of a tin. Heck, they even managed to make a steak taste like it came out of a tin, something that can only be achieved by either a complete genius or a Scottish chef.

The tourists in Aviemore are generally split 3 ways. Americans, Chinese and English, with a handful of the other usual suspects (Japanese, Australians and Indians). I remember one time walking through the High Street when we overheard an American lady say to her friend:

“Oh my gosh I just adore Europe, it’s so quaint with all its little cafes and stores.”

Well holy **** love, if you think this is quaint you must live in an even bigger ******** back home.

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