Crieff

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At first glance, the fine town of Crieff might not appear to have a great deal going for it, where tourism is concerned. In the town centre there is not much in the way of a museum, no castle, and no old house where someone once lived. There is a Visitor Centre on the edge of town, but it smacks to me of a heederum-hoderum-och-aye-the-noo sort of place that really only exists to allow coach travellers to stretch their legs, finger woolly coos, and throw some chuck down their throat. In that very visitor centre, for example, there is an 'exhibition' (I use the term loosely) that purports to be all about Drovers. It is housed in a depressing little brick room that did nothing for me but sap my spirit and very soul. There is not one artefact, not even a coo wot had been droved, or driven, perhaps to distraction. The only thing that might drag me back to that centre would be to watch the men making Caithness Glass - a fascinating thing to see. But, like so many towns in Scotland, what Crieff has in abundance is the sort of scenery that makes grown men cry with happiness. There are sundry truly wonderful walks in the area. There are even some superb things to see not too far outside the town, like that fascinating old library at Innerpeffray. And so, to conclude, I would say that Crieff may be regarded merely as some place in which one might pause for a rest, to eat and drink, lay one's head, and perhaps to gather en masse at the Drummond Cross to drink hooch and toast the health and return of His Majesty King James VIII.