Wellie I never

THING: The Green Welly Stop

If you venture up to the wild west coast of Scotland, you will find dramatic, rugged mountains, windswept moors, glistening lochs, frisky stags and quite a lot of bald men in outdoor gear who look a bit like Raoul Moat. And there’s also this:

A talking welly sitting on a barrel, encouraging you to get hammered.

Everybody goes on about Tebay services, but eating an £8.99 artisan sausage roll next a duck pond is NOTHING compared to the insane sensory overload of the Green Welly Stop. It’s in a place called Tyndrum, which sounds like a condition affecting the inner ear, but is actually the last outpost for humanity on the West Highland Way. Beyond that there’s nothing but terrifying peaks, rolling heather and scree for miles. And it’s almost as if the Green Welly Stop is deliberately trying to send you into this inhospitable landscape in a drunk and disorientated state, with nothing but a flimsy Quechua tent and this terrifying mug:

Yes, I also screamed ‘TEETH!’ very loudly in the gift shop. There was a whole shelf dedicated to these weird enormo vessels, all with the capacity to hold about 60 gallons of tea and educate you about dentistry, the human skeleton and The World of The Horse. Do you want to think about brain stems when you’re having your morning cuppa? No? Well, tough shit!

That was just the beginning, though. When I say that The Green Welly Stop sells everything, I mean EVERYTHING. Wallpaper paste and sauerkraut. Tiramisu and hair bobbles. Midge spray and stormtroopers playing tennis:

What the fuck is going on? Good question. I think originally it was just a (very) general store which sold outdoor gear - including, obviously, wellies - for nearby campers. Oh, and booze, to keep everyone’s minds off the trench foot and the sideways torrential rain. And I suppose in the absence of a Cineworld, a Five Guys and a branch of Zara, you may as well go all out and stock a full range of Stormtroopers doing amusing things. After all, the winter nights must be VERY LONG.

Also, these days, there are thousands of international visitors to the area - it’s not just dour people in cagoules called Janet and Malcolm, sipping from a tartan Thermos. Thousands of international visitors flock to the area every year, and the Green Welly Stop seems to be frantically attempting to cater to every single one of them. That must be why it’s stuffed full of exciting crisps of the world, like these amazing artery-pommelling German snacks that have a nutrition rating similar to a faulty boiler:

Not to mention Romanian corn puffs and a stoned owl in a Burberry sweatshirt who looks like it’s about to steal your phone.

They’ve even got something for you if you happen to be in the Norwegian army.

And of course, what retail experience would be complete without a writhing basket of disgruntled stuffed animals, including a stoat, an angry octopus and the Loch Ness Monster, shoved next to the red wine and the Anadin?

Despite, or perhaps because of, the eclectic amount of stock, everything was prohibitively expensive, including a cup of tea I had to make myself that cost £2.70. How can a bag of Twinings and some boiling water cost nearly £3? Am I paying the stoat’s rent?

Still, despite causing me to become vaguely hysterical, it was highly entertaining. And the great news is, it’s online, too, as explained by this sign, which you could only see if you had either passed the door or you were on your way to the door.

Still, who am I to question the Green Welly Stop’s idiosyncratic ways? It might be a bit bonkers but it’s genuinely the only place for miles where the busy falconer on the move can buy some stylish, bird of prey-friendly gloves.

And it’s the ideal place for all those last-minute essentials you’ll need for your road trip with the Norwegian army. Like these two snake draft excluders entwined in a loving embrace.

VERDICT: Boot-ique

THING: Choctopus Matcha flavoured chocolate

And finally, this wasn’t at the Green Welly Stop, but I bet if I’d looked under the massive pile of dog toys, firelighters and Highland cows playing tennis and fellating each other, I would have found it.

My friend brought this Polish delicacy back from Krakow, and it doesn’t taste of matcha at all. That’s not a bad thing, though, seeing as matcha tastes like a welly that has been exhumed from the unmarked grave of a Highland campsite owner who died in mysterious circumstances. Your brain fills in the gaps anyway, and you end up consuming a kind of general Blank Street universal green pistachio matcha aura that’s obscenely sweet but not unpleasant.

Anyway, we must forgive our little friend Choctopus for a generally teeth-melting experience, because unlike that angry octopus next to the stoat, he is, quite literally, a sweetie. I love the word ‘choctopus’ and the whole thing is rather jolly compared to the boring Clean Girl blandness of everything else that has matcha in it. Look at wee Choctopus’s innocent face!

I wonder what other flavours they do?

Er, hang on…Matcha and hemp? Are you sure about this, Choctopus? Hemp might be a gateway drug, and if you’re not careful in a few months your octopus friends and family might be calling you Cokeypus and hiding their purses from you. So maybe you should retract those tentacles and step away, before your ink sacs start writing cheques your bulbous mantle can’t cash…

Uh oh, too late. He’s gone.

VERDICT: Green…wellied…stop