(In which Benj kisses Cate bye-bye, and visits and old mate)
The airport bus (one block behind the hotel) runs every 10-15 minutes and is good value at £5 single or £7 day return.  Cate checked in at the Air Transat desk and we had a final coffee before it was time for her to go through the 'pinch', beyond which B could not pass (sob).  So Benj returned to Glasgow, and contacted Bill Murray, former classmate from Med School.  Bill has had an unfortunate enough medical history in himself and his family, but it was capped earlier this year with a major haemorrhage which has left him in chronic renal failure, requiring thrice weekly haemodialysis.  I had thought it a good plan to see him while he has his treatment, for an uninterrupted catch-up.  I could not for the life of me find the correct bus to the Western Infirmary, despite having been travelling on that bus almost daily for several years, and nobody in the street could enlighten me!  So I succumbed and got a taxi, which did prove to have one nice side-effect.  As we progressed westwards, I spotted the corner of St Vincent Crescent, where I had my first flat (room actually) away from home as a student.  I got the driver to make a diversion, and stood outside my old tenement building and took a photograph: a man cleaning up the front of the building said I could enter and go upstairs if I wanted, but I declined and we carried on to the Western.  The dialysis unit is now in what was Sir Andrew Kay's Surgical Unit, where I trained for one term as a student, and where Bill had worked as a House Officer and later Consultant, so it was very strange for both of us to be back in the old building.  We chewed the fat for almost three hours, covering health, families (Bill's daughter is being 'worked up' as a potential live-related renal transplant for her dad), music (he is still a very active guitarist with a rock band), medico-legal work, and travel.  It was a good time together, and I was glad to have been able to do it.  Sorry not to get to see Isobel though: another time I hope.  I left to catch the 1821 train back to Oban.  It was a most amusing journey, as I shared the table bay with two very pretty gay boys, one of whom truned out to be a fashion photographer (he looked about 17) heading for a 'shoot' at a ballet school in Taynuilt of all places - who would have thought it?!