Writers Blog

As I sit here in Devon, with Lands End in sight I need to apologise to any confused readers who may be wondering why I'm still in County Durham.
When I set out on the "Lejog" trek last year, the Blog became the millstone around my neck with never enough time to keep it up to date. This year, with a job & domestic activities piling up every time I came home between each leg of the journey, "Writers Blog" set in. It stuck at the bottom of a "To do" list.
Now, I'll endeavour to catch up, but keep it brief. The notes are all there for the longer journal (which may eventually be written) but for the loyal supporters of WHI groups who've enthusiastically joined in to support me I want to get it finished!

What a difference a year makes

Well, with no sounds of snoring from the opposite bed, I guessed, correctly, that Jan was a woman. Quietly creeping out of the room, so as not to wake her, I was planning on an early start.

Not quite as early as the 5.30 am the kitchen clock told me it was! However, since I was up and about, I started preparing breakfast and packed lunch when into the kitchen strolled Jan's husband and (male) friend from Canada. Ah...now I understood the sleeping arrangements.

After long discussions about the pros and cons of the Pennine Way, addresses were exchanged, and with an offer of a bed if I was passing through Herefordshire, I was off.

But not before saying goodbye to Mr & Mrs Youth Hostel. They really had done a stirling job of turning this place around when it was on the point of closure. I could see for myself the improvements from last year. The showers for one. Yes, I would heartily recommend this place. Where else could you get a bed, breakfast, two course evening meal, with wine (yes, they even have a license now!) packed lunch and towel hire for £26.00.

Practically skipping through Keilder Forest, which last year had seemed such an eternally long end to a tough day, by 11.00 am, I was triumphantly calling my sister from "Witley Pike" "Guess where I am?" She couldn't believe it. Last year, following late night revelling with old school friends, we'd climbed the steep hill out of Bellingham, in the searing heat of a midday sun to reach this point. But what a difference a year makes. Of last years trio of hills, heat and hangovers, only the hills remained.

Feeling smug, self satisfied, and thinking I really ought to slow down to a stroll, as Angela (my host) wasn't picking me up until late afternoon, I took a long rest, and was admiring the views, when along the path came a couple of walkers. Laden down with heavy rucksacks they were camping all the way to John O' Groats. While he looked quite chipper, she looked completely knackered, and pretty fed up. And I soon realised why. After brief exchanges of what we were doing, how and why, he looked me up and down a bit and sneered "Well, if you were carrying packs like ours, you certainly couldn't get away with wearing those" pointing to my lightweight trainer style walking boots. And then added suspiciously, "You're not a member of the Ramblers are you?" Not quite understanding the relevance of this question I replied "Well, yes I am actually" "Thought so! The sought of people who think walking is to drive to a nice location, stroll around a bit, go to the pub, get back in the car and go home" Gritting my teeth, and trying to remain polite, I wished them the best of luck with the rest of their journey. And as they walked on, she turned round, as if to say "Please take me with you" I tried to convey my sympathy at her misfortune in ever agreeing to walk with him, silently replying, "Take my advice and do yourself a favour. When you get to John O'Groats, buy him a one way ticket to the Orkneys "

Unfortunately, I then took his advice of trying the "Alternative Pennine Way" So alternative, that all the signposts disappeared. All my early progress was lost in a wasted hour of scrambling about on the moor, looking for a way down to the road.

When Angela picked me up and whizzed me off to Sunderland, for a quick shower, before heading off to South Shields, I was amazed. I'd expected cranes, warehouses, ships and a grim grey landscape. The reality was golden sand stretching for miles. With a distinct lack of any of the trappings of a seaside frontage, in the evening sun it looked like the south of France.

We were in South Shields for a Dance Show. Her daughter, Sophie, was performing with the elite Northern Dance Company. A contemporary performance it was nothing like the dance shows I'd been subjected to over the years To sit for hours watching other peoples children prance around just to see your own little darlings brief appearance as a chicken or a fairy is, I suppose, all part and parcel of playing the dutiful parent of dancing daughters.

On the Border

Last night I prayed to a God that hadn't really been listening for the past two years.

I said "The forecast for tomorrow is torrential rain sweeping across the whole of the UK. We are being advised to board the Arc immediately. With places to get to and people to meet, if I don't walk the 30 miles to Byrness tomorrow I won't be able to. Now, if you can't work big miracles can you try a small one please, and stop the rain?"

And do you know what? He did. Leaving Melrose for the "St Cuthberts Way" under grey, but dry skies, I said a silent "thank you"

It was with a regrettable sigh that I past by a very attractive house on the "S.C.W." I was due to meet a "Paths to Health" WHI leader yesterday for afternoon tea at his home. Obviously that had to be re-scheduled to morning coffee, but he unfortunately at the last minute, had to be elsewhere.

Never mind, I needed to get a pace up. The route is well marked and easy to follow as it wiggles and squiggles it's way alongside the river. One huge loop near St Boswell's was one I was determined to cut off. I tried and failed last year, but today, Hurrah! I succeeded.

Somehow it seemed easier this way round, and before too long I was heading down the long straight "Dere Street" into Jedburgh.

Just as I got into town, the heavens opened and so I darted into a steamy cafe. "Is this seat taken?" were wise words, as I met the most interesting lady who was really taking "Active retirement" seriously. Having bought herself a camper van to travel the world, going wherever the fancy took her, she was starting the journey here in The Borders, one of her favourite haunts.

A voice in my head said "Ok, you've made one cup of coffee last an hour, if you want to get to Byrness before nightfall, it's time to move on - and look, it's stopped raining" and so with a quick swapping of e mail addresses and promises to keep in touch, I was on my way out of Jedburgh, only pausing to take a photo of the magnificent Abbey.

Walking down the minor roads and riverside paths, the clouds slowly cleared away and by the time I stepped out onto the main road at "Carter Bar" (the border of Scotland and England) the views of the sun setting over the Borders were stunning. All was quiet and still. The Bagpipe Player, who last year was entertaining a coachload of Japanese tourists, had packed his souvenir CD's and gone home.

Was I ever glad to see the Youth Hostel in sight, and even gladder that I'd booked ahead, as there really is nothing else but the hostel in Byrness. It had been touch and go when I'd rung yesterday. "Sorry, fully booked. school party in" "What! Can you not squeeze one small female in anywhere? I'll sleep on the boot rack if I have to!" "Well, give me five minutes to check whether "Jan" on the Pennine Way is a man or a woman, and I'll phone you back" and my luck was in, she found me a bed. Whew!

I don't think I'd realised just quite how tired I was until my eyes blurred and I started swaying, trying to take in the instructions for using the shower.This place is full of them. Run with military precision by the ex Army trainers they were, all guests clearly know the rules. The boot one being the most important to remember. "Do not under any circumstances attempt to enter the house wearing your boots or you will face a court marshall" or words to that effect.

After a very very late meal, I collapsed into bed, far to exhausted to care if my room mate was "Jan" the man or the woman.

A summit meeting of the Legog Society

Feeling fresh, invigorated, dry and ready to finally make up those extra miles I missed on the first day, I was going to walk to Jedburgh. Oh yes I was! Or was I?

Taking the easy low road which follows the Tweed, the plan was to weave alongside the main road, stop at Innerleithen for a coffee, and then on to Walkerburn, over the bridge to the minor road to Melrose. None of that "faffing around" with the "Southern Upland Way" going all the way round the houses (literally) in Galasheilds I was going straight to the "St Cuthberts Way" at Melrose. From there on it was an easy route to Jedburgh. All I needed to was book somewhere to stay.

Circumnavigating "Cardrona" the ostentatious housing development favoured by footballers wives, ( how any property developer ever got planning permission to blot the beautiful landscape of the banks of the River Tweed remains a mystery), I arrived at a minor road pointing me towards the hills and "The Southern Upland Way" Well, I considered the options, perhaps this stretch of "The Way" to Melrose might be a good idea, after all. Not long down the road I met a lone female walker. After the initial "Hi, and where are you walking today's" she told me she was walking to Lands End! In the next half hour we swapped stories and e mails before moving on. Blow me, 20 minutes later I met my next "Lejoger" .We chatted about this, that, and the state of play at the Byrness Youth Hostel. (the only place to stay en route) If I booked ahead, as they are getting busy, and remembered the boot rule, I should be ok. Half an hour later, I was off again, thinking I really needed to get a spurt on if I was going to make it to Jedburgh before nightfall.

Undoubtedly, it was hard going, but the views made it all worthwhile. "The Point of Resolution rings "were an interesting "lets stop and get my non existent scientific mind around this amazing sight" sort of moment. Later, pausing for another breather, I met two ladies doing the "SUW" and as we chatted, who should appear up the slope but another trio of "Lejogers" As one of them enquired about the whereabouts of Ruth, I detected a distinct frisson of enthusiasm that she'd been spotted earlier. Could this be the beginning of a Lejog romance, or was my imagination running away with me?

By now, I was way, way, behind time and by the time I'd stopped for another chat with another "Southern Upland Wayer" I'd resigned myself to staying in Melrose.

Which seemed, initially, not a bad decision, I'd really liked the place last year, and regretted not having enough time to enjoy it. So, first stop the Youth Hostel. £30 for a shared room without breakfast! They'd got to be joking. Unfortunately not and as every B & B had "No Vacancies" in desperation I finally checked into a hotel. For £45, I was offered a "non smoking room" (like I should be grateful)which would have been almost acceptable if the T.V. the lights and the shower had worked. In the end, it was so late, I was so tired, I even ate there. Another disappointment. The lack lustre attitude of the bar staff reflected in the service and the food. So, Melrose, beautiful a place as it was, passed me by.

Like Pooh and Piglet I go hunting but don't catch a Woozle

Well, news travels fast! Here I was in West Linton with the Pipe Band playing me out of town to a cheering crowd. I wish! No, I'd arrived on the morning of the "West Linton Festival" a day unfortunately dawning grey and drizzly.

Originally planning to stick to the River Tweed, I decided instead to take the old "Drovers Road across the hills. It was well signposted and with a more direct route, I should have made good progress. Unfortunately not, as I climbed higher, the weather deteriorated, and somehow, head down against the driving rain I missed a signpost.

To spend the next hour in a huge forest, knowing I was going round in circles, was getting to the scary "will I ever see my family again" point. Confused and disorientated the only way forward was to go backwards. Clambering through the bracken, I eventually backtracked to the point where I'd taken the wrong turning.

From there on, it was easypeasy all the way back to Peebles. Easy, but grim. Soaked to the skin, all I could think of was the hot bath I'd sink into when I finally got there.

It was only after I was warm, safe and dry, I could see the funny side of it.

Like Pooh and Piglet I'd wasted an afternoon going round in circles in the wood, and didn't even see a "Woozle" never mind catch one.

An unexpected guest

If your thinking I should have been at the bridge yesterday you'd be correct, but in order to meet up with the B.F's yesterday, I needed to swap the days over. And, just to complicate matters further, I also decided not to walk back to Balerno, because for the equivalent mileage I could walk right into the city. And what a brilliant decision that turned out to be ( I certainly don't make many of them) On a beautiful sunny day I followed the cycle track all the way to the Haymarket, practically to the front door of the flat.

Why was it so great? Well, after the excitement of striding over the bridge I was walking back into the countryside again heading towards Barnton, one of Edinburgh's most affluent suburbs. As I tried to guess the price of a huge detached house in this area I came across one of those really modern architectural splendours of the type you see on "Grand Designs" juxtapositioned between the 1930's mansions, and it somehow didn't seem out of place.

On this bright Saturday morning everyone and his dog was out cycling on the path. As every northerner knows (me included) a warm sunny Saturday is a rarity to be made the very most of.

A perfect day for a visit to the "Royal Yacht Brittania" Permanently docked at Leith, it is now a museum for the viewing public to get a feel of what life on board the Royal Yacht was like-from both sides of the "green baize door"

It was fascinating, and I came away feeling really quite sorry for the Queen, and the rest of the Royal Family, in that they were probably bowing to public opinion (influenced by the media) into relinquishing what had been a damn good P.R. exercise. My goodness, she worked tirelessly. OK, between state visits, life on board was a relaxing interlude, and why not? I didn't feel quite so sorry for those "below stairs" The hierarchy of life aboard ship was all apparent as we descended to the bowels of the ship. Anyway, I'm sure a compromise could have been made. As it is, it's being preserved in pristine condition, hired out for corporate events no doubt at some mind boggling cost.

On the bus to Peebles, I was slightly concerned. All attempts at contacting Ruth and Roy (my hosts) failed. There was nothing for it but to ring the bell and hope for the best...No response. The car was in the drive, it was a beautiful sunny evening, they must be in the garden, watering the plants. "Hello, how nice to see you!" exclaimed Ruth, hose in hand, in a way that indicated she was surprised to see me. However, this wasn't a problem. As we got stuck into a quick change of sheets, I was, I think, flattered that I was an "ok" sort of unexpected guest.

Chapter 3. The Balerno Footsteps

In a flash of last minute inspiration I decided to fly up to Edinburgh very early on in the morning I was due to meet my first "Walking for Health" group. It made more sense to use airmiles, than use up hours getting there by train or bus. And so, just over 3 hours after leaving home, I was sitting in the office of the Balerno High School Community Office waiting to meet Chris the "Balerno Footsteps" Co-ordinator.

When I was introduced to the group, it all felt so familiar to me. They were such a nice friendly group of people, and talk about coincidence, one of the walkers had a sister who had just joined one of our walking groups in Surrey!

We set off with a melee of school children looking like they were joining us on the walk, but they were actually on some sponsored walk and soon headed off in a different direction.

Balerno was vaguely familiar, as I'd walked through it last year to make my way to the start of the canal. As we walked through the suburbs I chatted to George. In his 80's he had lots of interesting stories to tell.

Eventually I had to say goodbye him, Chris, and the other male walkers as I walked on with the three ladies to the Harlaw Reservoir for another few miles. It was a beautiful spot, if only it hadn't been spitting with rain. Another fond farewell as in such a short space of time they already felt like old friends.

And then there were two, as Carol and I walked on towards the Pentland Hills where she was going to set me off on the right track. Incredibly fit for her age, she'd already walked about 12 miles the day before!

Finally, it was just me, the wind and the rain. As I climbed higher the fog came to join us. It wasn't anything like the same hike we'd made last year in the warm sunshine.

I was beginning to get tired. Perhaps getting up at 4.30 am hadn't been such a good idea after all, and so, after a few miles of road walking, I called it a day and got the bus back to Edinburgh from West Linton.