Day 4: RaRa’s birthday! The Singleton Distillery & Tulloch Castle

Image for entertainment purposes only.

A little-known fact about RaRa: his birthday completes a curious little cosmic jigsaw in our family. May is a run of birthdays that turns into a full-blown bonanza nearly every year. I’m first, Dad the day after, then a small space before the twins’ birthday—so when I met RaRa and found out his birthday landed perfectly in that one quiet gap between us, it felt like the universe quietly clicking a final piece into place.

Was it fate? Coincidence? A well-timed algorithm of the heart? Who knows. But I’ve always loved the neatness of it. Like somehow, before I even knew it, he was meant to be right there—in the middle of it all.

Happy birthday to the one who slotted in like he was always meant to be there.

Loch Ness & birthday breakfast

We started the day at light o’clock (the official Scotland timezone) in Loch Ness, with a cup of tea, a sentimental card, and a t-shirt RaRa had been eyeing off at one of his favourite local cafés.

Lark was up bright and early—like she’d RSVP’d to the birthday before sunrise—and we kicked things off with a full campervan reset.

Devices charged.
Grey water emptied.
Bins out.
And yes... the sacred birthday ritual of dealing with the toilet cassette. Romance lives here.

Once we were freshened, flushed, and ready to roll, we swung by Cobbs Café for a real coffee and, tragically, a hot chocolate made with full cream milk. A true act of love.

Back on the road, we pulled into a layby overlooking the ruins of Urquhart Castle. I scrambled the eggs while RaRa stared out over Loch Ness, lost in prehistoric musings. Lainey was fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the ancient creature lore or the birthday breakfast unfolding beside her.

There’s something comforting about the idea of Nessie—something ancient and mysterious surviving in the vast, dark water. Honestly, I get it. If I were an elusive aquatic relic, I’d choose Scotland too.

Loch Ness is awe-inspiring. Tree-lined hills roll on either side, with a twisting road hugging the steep drop to the water’s edge. Brown rocks shimmer beneath the shallows, visible for a brief moment before vanishing into the deep, inky blackness. The loch itself feels as wide as a sea—far more expansive than I’d anticipated.

Boats outfitted with sonar trawl its surface, filled with hopeful tourists trying to catch a glimpse of Nessie, while fishermen cast lines into the freshwater. Perhaps they are more bait than what’s on the hooks.

With breakfast eaten, toddler still snoozing, and hearts quietly full, we carried on—birthday boy driving the caravan and the day’s activities (this is all about him, after all!), the Highlands rolling out before us like a gift.

Whisky tasting

Next on RaRa’s take-the-day-as-it-comes-just-the-way-he-likes-to-plan schedule: The Singleton Distillery.

Unfortunately, children under eight aren’t allowed in—apparently, whisky education starts early in Scotland, but not that early. And given the sheer volume of 40-year-old single malts at toddler eye level in the gift shop, I decided we’d hang out in the caravan. One curious swipe from Lark could’ve turned into a five-figure parenting disaster.

So while RaRa sampled the good stuff on an hour-long whisky tour, Lark and I cooled ourselves in the caravan aircon.

A haunted ending? Tulloch Castle

Final stop on the birthday tour: Tulloch Castle.

Initially intended for my birthday, it had to be postponed due to that toddler gastrointestinal incident—shout out to the kind staff who moved the booking after receiving a distressed email at the start of our 27-hour journey on Day 1.

It wasn’t until today that I found out this castle is said to be haunted.
How did this not occur to me previously? Perhaps because Game of Thrones deliberately skirted around the paranormal bits from the books, and the only ghosts in Bridgerton are last season's diamonds, so all my reference castles ghost-free.

Tulloch is famously haunted by the Green Lady, the most photographed ghost at the castle. Plus other paranormal happenings. Think unexplained footsteps, flickering lights, cold spots, and just the right amount of intergenerational trauma in the upholstery.

Flashback: Brickendon, Tasmania

Now, you’d think I’d have learned from last time.

The year before last, RaRa’s birthday was hijacked by my dad’s 80th party. Determined to create a special birthday treat just for RaRa, we accidentally ended up in a haunted cottage in Brickendon, Tasmania.

The fireplace instructions sternly advised against large flames and asked that the fire be extinguished before bed. Unusual. The measly firewood wouldn’t have toasted a marshmallow, so RaRa ventured out to the shed and returned triumphantly with a forbidden haul.

We were reading by the fire, slowly dozing in the warmth, when I felt a cold draft on my back—and a presence in the doorway. Disapproving.

Moments later, the TV turned itself on.
The program? A segment about a couple who died in a house fire.

Despite the sitting room being as hot as a furnace, we both froze. Wordlessly searched for the remote—maybe we’d sat on it and bumped it on? But no. It sat untouched, right beside the possessed appliance.

We doused the fire immediately and slunk off to bed like two naughty kids caught by a ghostly school headmaster. I refused to be alone in any room after that. RaRa, a proud sceptic until that point, gained a whole new appreciation for Tasmania’s deep-rooted love of ghost stories.

I swore I’d never spend another birthday in a haunted house.

And yet—here we go again.

Arrival at the castle

We found Tulloch Castle after narrowly avoiding a tragic turn of events when the Sat Nav gave us a bum steer, directing us down an unsealed, narrow road the locals described as “not fit for a tractor, even.”

Thankfully, we were intercepted by a well-meaning local who gave us old-school directions to a more sensible route.

As we drove up the hill, we were mesmerised again by an ancient castle at the top originally built in 1122 AD. Every castle a reminder of a grand history unlike anything we know today—a mighty, centuries old physical presence. If only iPhones were so sturdy!

Pushing through the blue wooden door into reception, we were instantly greeted by a taxidermy deer trophy, thick tartan carpets, muted thistle wallpaper, exquisite dark woodwork, and steel torches on the walls. An art form long lost.

Beer garden & birthday dinner

RaRa’s birthday wish?
A drink in the castle’s Green Lady beer garden in the sun.

He enjoyed two pints of blonde beer, and I, a large French pinot noir—plus every variety of potato “crisp” on offer: salt & vinegar, cheese & onion, and the humble salted classic. Lark an apple juice, which she immediately spilled down the front of her jumper after the paper straw became too soggy.

A busload of American over-50s tourists, charmingly called the Road Scholars, arrived soon after—most retreating to their rooms. A different crowd to Dalmahoy House. So it was us, the Americans, and possibly the Green Lady.

Aside from chasing Lark around the grounds and a spirited game of hide-and-seek in the bar, it was a lovely, toasty afternoon.

Later, we freshened up for a special birthday dinner at Turrets Restaurant in the castle.

I had seared scallops with black pudding; RaRa had an asparagus and goat’s cheese tart.
We both followed with venison and roast vegetables. A most delicious dinner.

After a final round of chasing Lark around the dining room, we retired early to our four-poster bed—which must be sung to the tune of “Roller Coaster” by Machine Gun Fellatio—and fell blissfully asleep after an adventurous day for RaRa.

Happy birthday, my love.