Three days

As there is no special cake, Tunnock's fine wafer biscuits
provided a satisfying alternative.

Tobermory is lovely. Go there, sail or road. We went to a brilliant concert by the winner of Young Jazz Musician of the Year in Scotland. We had slightly poorly fish and chips (not as good as Essex, really) and in the morning topped up the fuel and water.
We sailed for a happy two hours, tacking down the sound of Mull before the wind faded and went to the usual position behind a mountain to have a rest, or just ahead of the roller foresail. It was the first time we have had all three sails up (really), and it was lovely while it lasted.
Oban is itself a little daunting, but it has a major whisky distillery, so we stayed at the marina opposite and had a very nice dinner at the Bar'n'Grill. The next morning we bought two duck eggs and six hen's eggs. As we left the farm, which is on the same island Karrera as the marina, a posse of chickens tried to make it hard for us to leave as they wanted to be fed.
The rain had begun hours before and it continued to rain into the night. We didn't go to Oban on the very regular ferry.

Oban to Crinan.

The route through the
Sound of Luing. Notice how it
 wobbles a bit, a bit like us when
the echo sounder told us
there was about 1m beneath us.
The chart begged to differ,
which made us happier.

This is about 24 miles. It was foggy when we got up, but it wasn't exactly raining. We left, steering carefully into the fog with two chart plotters and even the iPhone making its contribution, and made our way down to the Sound of Luing, which is the next one up from Corryvreckan. It was quite shallow in places, the echo sounder lost the will to live, and there were genuine whirlpools as the tide took us at around 9.5 knots down the sound, into the fog.
[We've done 13.5 knots over the ground in the Alderney Race, just to cap that one].

Crinan Canal.
Well, the book said it would be open until 9pm, but it wasn't, so we anchored off. The fog had lifted and the sea was quiet, although when I got up at 0300 for the usual, the next boat was still there with his anchor light. When I got up at 0800, the next boat was about a mile away out to sea. Still with his anchor light on.

We  anchored at Crinan. The sky was flat grey, with a
thin band of light where the clouds had nothing to
rain on apart from the sea, which must be a bit
pointless for a heavy rain cloud if there are no
living things to torment

Anyway, it rained. For twenty four hours. It rained all varieties of rain apart from rain carried by a gale. It rained all day, and in to the night, heavy, persistent and unrelenting. Left to our own devices, we managed eight locks, and finally after some assistance from passing staff of the canal, we retired, absolutely soaked to the skin.

Alison had attempted a mutiny at least twice, as she was in charge of winding the paddles. Also my welly boots were up to three inches in water, inside, that is, surrounding the socks, so I wouldn't allow a mutiny. Nevertheless, she was disheartened and at the same time quite exceptionally grumpy.

The driest thing was my vest. Only
the left sleeve was wet. Everything else
was wet. Wet. Humph.

This is the licence document for the Crinan Canal
after it was tucked in my waterproof pocket in the
office at Crinan Harbour. It was retrieved when we were
asked to present it on leaving the canal through the
sea lock at Ardrishaig. They had to phone the
office at the other end to see if we were legitimate.

The next morning the boat was dripping damp (everywhere), but at least the rain had stopped. My two or three year old "waterproofs" didn't prove their worth even slightly.
The cost of a licence for the Crinan is amazing, or breath taking, not quite sure which. The time spent waiting for something to happen is also amazing, but on Saturday we had a decent run down the hill from lock to lock because staff were around and a lot of boats were coming through so the locks were often open as we got to them. The locks are mostly antiques, and only the sea lock had hydraulics. All the rest were handraulic.
I said before, they need to speak to the Dutch about how to run it. Maybe. Don't tell anyone I said that.

Identify which boat is Astonel. The one on the left, or the one on the right?
The prizewinner gets a Tunnock's biscuity thing.

Tarbert. As good as Tobermory, absolutely gorgeous entry to the harbour, castle on the hill, and a new bilge pump switch from the chandlery. Dripping damp gone as the sun had warmed the sky andthe  air had warmed up no end.
And a glass of wine. Cheers.
Ireland is just about in our sights, although we may try the Isle of Man. We don't feel we've done the whole place justice, but three stops stand out: Linnhe Marine, Tobermory, Drumbuighe, and Tarbert. That's four. And I quite enjoyed that freezing cold little harbour on the Caledonian Canal. Tarbert is the home of many rather senior citizens, which made one of us feel young again whilst eating a jam scone with a cup of tea. The marina is lovely, and the ablutions block is a wonder to the eyes: all new and sparkling and designer, although the Dyson hand drier is a bit crap.

And Dickies of Tarbert still exists.
This is the figurehead on a fairly Norse-looking vessel, obviously double ended and designed to be powered by oars. The middle picture is pretty obvious - I was wondering just how an old boat can appear to be so shiny at times, but actually it was the torrential rain that has cleaned everything.
And of course, the bottom picture is a view from the ruined castle. It's been a defensive position since around 600BC, apparently, but I think the locals have ignored it.
It hasn't defended anyone against midges. I've just squidged one on the computer screen.