After returning from my wee jaunt overseas I wasn’t exactly up for a far-flung holiday, so instead I opted for a couple of weeks back with the fam’ in dear old Cumbria.
I slept a lot, I went on visits to see my sister, and an old friend at the Fringe, I stayed at home all day waiting for a parcel that didn’t arrive, and, naturally, I did a wee bit of knitting. But I also got some exercise (shock, horror) when I went for a little walk up a fairly steep hill with Ma and Pa.
On Bank Holiday Monday we headed north to Scotland (where it wasn’t a Bank Holiday) to climb up Grey Mare’s Tail. The last time we climbed it was four years ago, just after I’d graduated and just before I was about to begin Relay.
It’s a nice climb – knackeringly steep, but not too long – with a lot of beautiful, purple heather, some crazy wild mountain goats, and one of the most glorious lochs you’ve ever seen.
The other thing that I love about it is one of the information boards handily placed at the bottom by the National Trust for Scotland, informing us that:
Some of Scotland’s best-known writers have visited Grey Mare’s Tail. Walter Scott fell off his horse here.
Good to know, eh?
And when we’d finished we went into Moffat for our tea, and I had the best steak I’ve had since I left South Africa 21 months ago. Win.
In summary: Scott fell off his horse here.