That lost a few fans in the Bible Belt dint it John? But you weren’t too distressed. It was hyped out of context. The power of the fourth estate, even in 1965? Maybe 64. Forever young. RIP. Our hero.

Good night’s sleep. I’ve got used to sleeping on the ground without a mattress so tonight might be difficult. But probably not. We’ve had a waterbed for thirty years and the most recent version is the best bed in the world. There’s a membrane down the middle so Maggie can set the temperature on her side differently to mine. Mine’s right. But don’t tell her.

Because I’ve been walking up the Clyde Valley and down the Tweed Valley the ground has been great for putting tent pegs in without a hammer. Softer ground for sleeping on too.

It was dry through last night but by the time I’d been down to the toilet block on the campsite and got back to the tent the rain had started so I packed away a wet tent again. And it went on to rain all day. I walked with wet but less pained feet and felt a lightness of being, despite the dreich.

I stopped for breakfast at the far end of Melrose at a nice cafe and didn’t want to leave as it was warm and they had limitless pots of tea.

Melrose is a nice place. Kelso was my target, today and finally for this trip, about 15 miles of road walking again. Starting off Melrose Abbey is interesting they say but hidden behind walls so no photo I’m afraid. But further out of Melrose is the location of the northernmost Roman fort in Britain. Trimontium (the place of the three hills). But there’s nowt there but sign boards and cultivated fields. It was actually huge in its day, but had to be because the Scots were a bit of a handful. 

Fantastically there was a decent sized colosseum for entertainment on the edge of the old town. Get in!

The road crossed the Tweed again with a railway bridge, old road bridge and new bridge within a few hundred yards of each other.

The old road bridge takes first prize.

Over the river, up a hill on to Smailholm and a slow descent to Kelso. On roads in the rain.

Felt good. Could’ve done 25 miles today but glad when Kelso appeared. An elegant little town.

My last stop in Scotland so I got a couple of proper Haggis for the freezer from a local top quality butcher. The bus sped on through the rain, from Kelso to Berwick Upon Tweed, crossing the border to England just after Coldstream. I’ve just polished off sausage and mash in a hotel opposite the station. £6 for more than a normal man could eat, but I’ve been walking. And I’ve enjoyed the walk and will be starting from where I left off in Kelso on the 25th July heading south for a couple of hundred miles down the Pennine Way.

Thanks for reading the blog and maybe join me again in July. Cheers friends.

Night night.

In fact much better. The rain stopped early this morning, I slept well, again, with no pee breaks. I did it in the sleepingbag- boom boom – laughing again. The tent dried in the early morning breeze and I got up reasonably early. Almost had a shower but it’s only been 5 days so I’m not over-ripe yet. I haven’t taken my clothes off for 3 days, in or out of the sleeping bag. 

A longer than anticipated walk today, 18 miles as I found a path off the road along the riverside for much of the way. Innerleithen to Melrose. 

The sun was out as the early clouds scudded across the sky and all was well with the world. Walking was made for days like this. No, that ain’t right. Days like this were made for walking. And that’s just what I’ll do. The river was still in flood from yesterday’s rain.

The path crossed the Tweed and joined up with the old railway line again. Brilliant. My foot was really good. I strapped it up with plasters and blister plasters across all the painful bits and round the little toe, which particularly suffered. My boots were soaking still from yesterday so I wore my Salomon walking trainers and the pain throughout the day was much less. As the blisters affect my small toe and the front of my sole I tend to walk with my right foot pointing out rather than forwards. This doesn’t help so I consciously walked faster and pointed both feet forwards whilst walking, almost bobbing along. It worked today.

My foot was much improved by the end of the day, with plasters largely removed.

The sunshine took over and the villages scooted by on the other side of the river. My side was for posher ones as the railway track intersected with the road once in a while.

The air was not too warm, breezy but ambient, perfect for walking. The sun was hot but covered periodically by clouds, perfect for walking. The smells of dog roses, gorse, wild honeysuckle, wild garlic and the rushing water were a really lovely cacophony, perfect for smelling.  I missed breakfast and only had a small mouthful of fresh water in my flask so I was getting quite hungry by noon, I’d set off at 8.30. 

Fishermen were stalking the banks and trying to find a clear and quieter spot, before giving up and drinking cups of tea in fishermens’ sheds by the riverside. I was offered a cuppa when I asked for directions as the track fizzled out into dense overgrowth.

Up to a quiet country road and I put my foot (left one) on the gas. 

The road dropped down to the river and I followed another track down the banks, crossing an old bridge with a beautiful view upstream.

By this time, 13.00, I was starving. Almost jogging with my rucksack on my back I covered 3 miles in less than an hour and found a hotel with a decent cafe/restaurant and with reasonable prices. I stuffed myself and rolled out at 15.15 with only another three miles to go. The countryside was classic Scottish Borders. Look at this shot below. Just gorgeous. Not spectacular, not exciting, not breathtaking. Just gorgeous.

And the hill behind Melrose began to get closer.

Eventually the town where the heart of Robert the Bruce was buried came around the corner.

I put up ma tent and had a shower. Five days and I smell good, like I know that I should now! Good, so good, I smell good! Clean clothes. Yes. Early night tonight my matey boys and girls. 

Night night.

Thanks for reading. It makes blogging worthwhile. I hope you like it. Home late tomorrow. Night kids.

It’s bigger than you. And you are not me.The lengths that I will go to.                              Thanks R.E.M.

I remember that a DJ on Radio 1, I think it was Mike Read, had a show with guests reviewing new singles when this was released in the 90s. They were so busy talking that they missed the significance of one of the greatest rock singles of all time. They said it was tedious. 

It rained a lot overnight, I woke up a few times but only peed once. I know you like to know these things. Keeping tabs on my bladder. That’s fine, I’m not sensitive about it. But I was in the sleeping bag when I did it. Hoots of laughter. The rain continued into the afternoon.

I derigged the tent and took it into the laundry to fold up. Soaking.

I wore my boots and walked just half a mile to a cafe recommended by the campsite. A great breakfast with double haggis and tea.

Peebles is ok, no doubt better in the sun but a bit waterlogged today.

There’s a track running along the old railway line again, by the side of the Tweed, so I dropped down off the road to join it. Covered entirely by my camouflaged Swiss Army raincoat, up over the back of my pack as well. As here in this earlier photo. Better to be off the roadside, particularly when the pavement runs out. Should have brought a hi viz. 

The track was direct and well signed. Coming out of Peebles there is a huge quartz boulder carried down by the glaciers a few thousand years ago. 

Amazing how they built a seat for it to sit on in those days.

The rain continued. With an atmospheric ruined castle on the top of this hill.

The train line was great and my line of sight was narrow between the earth and the clouds. Going on and dropping rain forever. Well, at least until now. It was a short, four hour walk and they’ve spent some money on the walk. Not least the six figures spent on this bridge. Eddie Bingham – any idea how much it’d cost?

Coming into Innerleithen and looking back the view was overcast and damp.

The St Ronan’s Hotel beckoned, with a fire to dry out my coat and rucksack. I considered the wet tent wrapped up in its bag, compared to the dry, warm and hospitable option of a bed and breakfast. There were a couple of B&Bs available. But bugger it. Get that tent up Bladey Blade, you’ve not turned into a Hampstead pansy overnight have you lad? Sleep in a damp sleeping bag with water dripping down from the outer tent and a chill wind up your jacksie or you are not a real man. So there! 

Chill wind up my jacksie please sir!

Night night.

It isn’t but it would be ok if it was. Today was a 17 mile walk from the camp site in Biggar down alongside a stream to the River Tweed and on to Peebles. Biggar is a mile from the River Clyde, which runs on to Glasgow and down the Firth of Clyde to the Irish Sea and the Atlantic. But the stream that runs through Biggar turns left, instead of right, and runs on to the Tweed, which wends its way to England, the east coast and the North Sea.

The two white houses to the left in the photo above are on a tiny ridge that marks the watershed between the east and west coasts. Weird innit?

The site was alright, it’s a caravan club site and a golf club rolled into one. Clean bog, lots of bog roll, good washing facilities but that’s less relevant for Little Old Swine Stinker Me. The pond was full of fish too but you’re not allowed to fish it. Bullsh it.

I slept so well last night in ma tent. Eleven hours with only one tiddle. Big un though. 90 seconds easy, and free flowing. Not like my usual old man’s spray, dribble, spray, dribble. May I use your bathroom?

Heavy showers forecast. Oh well, here I go. By the way, Lanark is where William Wallace came from, of Braveheart fame. They don’t make anything of it. Local story is that he was only a pawn in a bigger player’s game. The fall guy that they shopped to the English and got taken to London to rot and then to be hung, drawn and quartered. Dirty English barstewards.

This is the stream, with tiny flowers, which runs past the site and later becomes part of the Tweed. I half expected Ophelia to come floating down.

The first eight miles were along a disused railway line. Fast walking flat and straight from a to b.

This lasted for eight miles but then it got rougher and unclear.

Where it was clear the farmers, as in Spain, tried to discourage folk. I couldn’t resist touching this and got a hell of a shock for my cheek. Well, for my arm actually. Scottish batarde farmer. Scuse my French. 

The hills breathe lovely life into the landscape. Just fab.

The shot above is where my stream, coming in from the right, flows into the Tweed, coming down from the hills ahead. My right foot is hurting like hell with blisters and at this point I had to change the dressings and my socks, which were soaked. I’d been walking in trainers to ease the pain but they let in water.

On top of one of the dry stone walls was an inscription and inscribed rocks. To Georgina Stewart, 1919 – 2014. A good innings and a lovely place to rest eternally.

Peebles was a long way. My foot is a bugger, but it’s a short one tomorrow. Eight miles I think, so that will be ok. The site is nice today as well. And I beat the rain showers to get the tent up on dry ground. Excellent.

The club on site opens at 5pm. Excellent. And I’m in it now. Excellent. But it’s horrible. Not excellent. And town is half a mile away and I don’t want to walk. Not excellent. And the club doesn’t do food on a Monday night. Not excellent. And I haven’t got a crum to eat. Not excellent. So I’ll have three pints, a packet of crisps and an early night in the fresh, clean air of the Scottish Borders. Excellent!!!

I’m worried about my foot. It’s identical damage to when I roadwalked the last two days in Spain. I’ve got to toughen it up or change my boots. The boots are fine. I’ll toughen it up then.

Night night.

So said my B&B host for last night, Neil at the Westport in Lanark. He should spend more time cleaning his guest house rather than passing on witty quips. It was loppy. Good breakfast though. 

Just 13 miles today, from Lanark to Biggar, chasing the River Clyde upstream. My right foot is blistered with a long walk yesterday and I need to plaster up the poorly bits at some stage. Later. It just makes me walk a bit funny that’s all, and plenty of people have permanent conditions that make them walk a bit funny so I should rejoice and be glad. Dry morning and a cool breeze. The road dropped down to the Clyde from Lanark, crossing this elegant 250 year old bridge.

Again it’s a road walk but the country is getting countryish and the hills are rising. This is Tinto Hill, a local focal-point for walkers.

I copped for some showers today. Luckily they fell when I was on a cycle route later on which was lined by trees so I stayed dry. Each step for the last five miles was painful. It’s road walking again that does it. Same spots on me foot that flared up on the last couple of days road walking in Spain in April. I’ll man-up, if it’s pc to say that still. 

These youngish bulls came down to see me when I started mooing. Luckily they observe the restriction of a fence that they could bring down with a decent stampede.

Again my track criss-crossed the Clyde, and looking downstream this looked like a posh place in the distance. White walls do it don’t they?

Getting Biggar and Biggar now and the hills are looking fine.

And the scent of the gorse wafting down from the south facing slopes is delightful. Brilliant.

In Biggar for 15.00 and a couple of drinks and haggis in a local. Feeling recuperated! I’m getting another early one. Maccabees might be on the agenda later on this afternoon. That’s my statement of in-tent. Boom boom. 

Night night for laters.

Dint see her. Saw a lot of cars though. Roadwalking again mostly today from east Glasgow south to Lanark. Twenty five miles it turned out to be. Knackered me. Sorry….Knackered, me. Anyway I went to bed early in ma tent last night. I couldn’t work out the signage in the bog, which was very clean, although I didn’t test the showers. Too tired. Anyway the sign was bizarre.

Now I know what urinals are, and toilets, but what’s a bottom toilet? 

The tent was nestled up by a tall hedge, but the ground was rock hard and I don’t carry a mattress. So I slept badly. I had my tea before I got down.

Don’t listen to the Maccabees’ album Given to the Wild, in a tent, without your teeth in or this might happen to you.

I got up at ten past seven this morning and left the site at eight. It was a dry morning, although it was a bit chilly in the night. The first section was across woodland and then threading through the streets of east Glasgow to find the shortest route to Lanark.

The route cut south to Hamilton and then up the Clyde Valley to Lanark. It was a busy road through as it cuts down by the M74, the main route to England. I had breakfast in a Greggs and for four quid got two nice breakfast rolls and two large cups of tea. Bargain. Rain and thunderstorms were forecast but incredibly they blew across either side of me and missed. By three in the afternoon I was done in with the rucksack and the humid day, and still had nine miles to go. The road threaded over the winding Clyde.

This is a seriously posh part of Scotland.

Eventually I rolled into Lanark at quarter past seven in the evening on my 63rd birthday. Buggered. Over the bridge and up a very long hill. 

I treated myself to a curry and I’m in bed, about to switch out the light at quarter past ten. A long day but I’m staying in a B&B and am looking forward to a full Scottish breakfast at 8.30 with black pudding and haggis. Beam me up Scotty I must be in heaven.

Night night.

Hello my darlings!! I’m walking again. In recent years I’ve walked from John O’Groats in the northwest to Cape Wrath in the northeast of Scotland. From Cape Wrath down to Milngavie, and now I’m walking from Milngavie (near Glasgow) to Kelso in the southeast of Scotland. Below is an approximate route but it’s actually longer than this. Just to give you some orientation.

It will take me a week, and I’m mostly camping. It’s 110 miles this week, making it 550 miles continuous through Scotland. And I get to enjoy the country. Yesss!!! Get in you beauty! 
Cop this Sassenachs.

No, I meant this ….. beautiful lowland Scotland today.

Darling Maggie gave me a lift at 6.40 this morning to Leeds station and I ended up in Glasgow. Supposed to be Milngavie but there were problems on the tracks so I got a bus from Glasgow. Ended up where I ended up two years ago.

It was a 12 mile walk this afternoon, in a warm sun, down to east Glasgow round the country belt just outside the suburbs. Road walking with no pavement on a fair bit of the route. Bit of a bugger because the traffic was busy. 

I love walking with a rucksack on my back. Love it. This is actually the stump of a tree at the entrance to a posh Scottish house. How brilliant.

Tonight I’m at the Red Deer holiday park in my tent. I’m so happy to be in Scotland again. This is a view back north to Milngavie, hidden in a valley.

With the mountains on the southern edge of Loch Lomond visible thirty miles away on the left horizon. 

I’m B&B tomorrow night with wifi so I’ll blog then. Photos from today to finish.

Night night.

The hotel was ok. My first hotel was ok. The food was ok. I slept ok. 

I’ve decided to aim for Xerica today to try to get back to Alicante a day early just to be sure with Easter services on road and rail. In January the snow started up on the hills above there and I got a lift at Sacanyet to Bejis, where I got stuck. So to complete the 800 mile route from Tarifa to Reus I’ll need to walk at some stage the twelve miles from Sacanyet down to Xerica. I think I’ll do that next year, when I’m 64 – boom boom. I’ve got harsh sores and a blister on my feet from yesterday’s road walking and from the pebble footpaths and I don’t think I could do that extra 12 miles in the next two days. If I’m here with Maggie next year she could rest in a hostal whilst I finish the walk. It’ll take a morning and I’ll be back for lunch.

Good. Decided. Anyway I’ve got another 2,500 miles to do to complete Tarifa to John O’Groats so this 12 miles is the least of my concerns. 

Montant to Xerica was calling. My bedroom window view showed a sunny but slightly cloudy day. 12 miles to do up the valley from Montant to a pass on the top and then an even length drop to Xerica.

Still great views and the road up was a struggle. Bank Holiday and the dickheads on motorbikes and sports cars were blasting this relatively main road.

I made the top, and had to stop, and that’s what’s bothering me. Goodbye you brilliant northern mountains. By a long way my favourite walk in Spain. Beautiful country, beautiful folk and great peace. Thanks. 

Looking south from the top of the pass I could see Bejis, where I’d done time in a blacked out Hostal in the snow.

And two hours later I was marching in to Xerica on Good Friday. 

The streets were packed for a small country town.

My bus arrived, the same one I got last time, and I eventually made it to Valencia station and on to Alicante. I’ve had a rest day in Alicante. My flight is tomorrow and I’m looking forward to coming home. However this has been the dog’s. 

I’ve been lucky with finding cheap but fantastic accommodation, great people and solitary country walking. Pauls to Vallibona particularly should be on everybody’s bucket list. 

Thanks for reading this. May you build a ladder to the stars, and climb on every rung.

Love Dave.

We are going up. And today we’re confirmed as champions. XXX

If this walk were longer I’d have built in a rest day by now. I’m not old, I’m past middle-aged I think. Hold on, I’ll google it. Get in you beauty!!!! Yes, yes, yes! I’m middle-aged me. Kiss my sweet tomatoes Christian, I’m a middle-aged maggot farmer. Booom!

Morning has broken, like the first morning, blackbird has spoken, like the first bird…..

I am middle-aged, I am middle-aged. To the rhythm of ‘We are going up, we are going up’ as sung in Hostal Carbonera last Saturday evening by me, the landlady (who didn’t speak English) and her partner. I let them hold my Blades flag. 

Any road. I’m a bit tired but I’ve only got two walking days left before I travel to Alicante. Walking in Spain is the dog’s doodahs . It really is a lovely, lovely experience. I closed my eyes, drew back the curtain…ooohoh!

Another late-ish breakfast but today was a 21 mile slog. I’d lost a bit of time on the way down over the last two weeks by preferring the beauty of the GR7 to road walking. However today unusually the GR7 criss-crossed the road and instead of 27 miles on the GR7 (which was too big an ask) I could do 21 miles on the road (which was do-able). Tough on the feet but faster. You can see the meandering of the red GR7 below and the relatively straight yellow road.

The roads here aren’t really roads as such, in that not many people drive on them. I set off and the first 5 miles were completely uphill. I sweatily and breathlessly pushed on. I need an hour in the morning to clear the cack from the top of my lungs. I have asthma and I take the steroid puffer morning and evenings but try to avoid the blue reliever. Long term it makes things worse. 

Looking back from part-way up the hill was stunning. My Hostal was the building at the bottom just right of middle, which stares into the evening sun but not in the early morning. 

Rising up I was making good time despite the steepness of the slope, with hairpin bends helping level things a bit. The broader view back, including Penyagolosa, is………

Awesome!!!!! I am middle-aged, I am middle-aged!

Helpfully the road had kilometre markers and it doesn’t half make you push faster. A few runners and cyclists as well. San Vicente was 14 kms – just under 9 miles. Most of it up that steep hill. But once on the top the breeze blew slightly and dried some of the sweat. On the top the Hermitage of Saint Bartolome brought some architectural relief. Lovely little place out of nowhere. 

More sixties artists. Not that I was that big into soul then but Marvin Gaye was the Prince of soul in the sixties and Smokey Robinson was the King. 
After a refreshment stop in San Vicente it was a long way down the valley to Montanejos, and the road was taking its toll on my sole(s). But the country keeps your spirits high.

And Montanejos was the last stop before Montan. The sweat had played havoc, dropping into my left eye with the sun tan lotion from ma baldy heed, making it very sore. I stopped at a farmacia for some eye drops and the girl said €11 for this packet of applicators, or €20 for antibiotic ones. I said ‘no thanks’ and asked if she had individual bottles. She said ‘no’ so I walked towards the door. Miraculously a bottle appeared from behind the counter, €3. Robbing gets.
Montanejos has warm springs and folk were frolicking in the water.

I’ll frolic in it with my old – sorry – middle-aged dear next year. I’m recceing a trip for the two of us for 2018. She’s a mountain girl. This year we’ve got a fortnight in Calpe in July and a fortnight in October driving round Granada, Cadiz and Seville. We love Spain. 

The last stretch was hard road uphill from the valley bottom and after 3 miles I came into Montant. From Montanejos it took one and a half plays of The Maccabees’ album ‘Given to the Wild’ and it kept me going. Looking up to Montant it felt mountainous, and looking back Montanejos felt cosy.

In between there were some pretty impressive rock faces even though we were out of the high peaks.

I got a room in the Hostal Pilar and fell asleep before dinner. The road had damaged my feet with an open sore on my left foot and a nasty little blister on my right one. But it makes you go fast on that surface. 

Thanks for reading this. It gives me more of a sense of purpose, even though I’m doing what I really enjoy.

Night night.

A nine o’clock breakfast was lazy but it was a short dap today, just 13 miles. What I didn’t realise was that just because most of it was downhill doesn’t mean it was going to be easier. So much depends on the surface, those boulder paths knacker your feet even through heavy mountain boots. Eric and Ernie. They’ve had some hammer this trip. Done well though. I got them second hand on eBay, exactly the same make, model and size as Chas and Dave, who became more superglue than leather.

The skyline today is dominated by Penyagalosa, half the size again of the highest in the UK. Even from the first drop down out of the village and across a mountain plain the beasty boy was there. Towering but not threatening. Glad I wasn’t on the top of that when it started snowing in January. 

The GR7 passed through thick woodland and many trees had been brought down across the path by some catastrophic combination of wind and rain, making progress slow. Cat Stevens… late sixties early seventies. He was good. 

I met a couple of walkers coming in the opposite direction. That’s me! Always do the opposite to the others and always have a weird and whacky slant on life. Hey hey! Prat. The most impressive was a young woman, could only have been twenty at most, called Mar from Amsterdam. Very nice kid. If she was my daughter I’d be having kittens. She was travelling along the GR7 from Alicante to her grandmother’s place in Barcelona, wild camping every night. A star but please kid, just go to the beach and have fun. You can do this stuff when you’re old.

The air was clear but getting hot, even in forest under the tree canopy. Beautiful during open areas though.

The track takes a detour round Penyagolosa to the west and then drops steeply and curves round eventually to Vilafermosa del Riu. There are two spellings for most places, Valencian dialect (like Catalan) and Castilian Spanish. Vilafermosa del Riu is Villahermosa del Rio, both meaning beautiful river town. I missed the turnoff where the path dropped and that cost me an extra mile down and back. Going down the right path the going was large pebble strewn but beautiful views.

I have to hand wash my walking gear in the Hostal sinks. I’ve got two kits, light and short football shorts and t shirts, and another kit for best in the evenings my Blades shirt and camo shorts. I put my camo shorts straight in my rucksack when I take them off because it’s very difficult to find them. I only wash my gear where there is a working radiator or other heater to dry them out. It’s still a bit chilly at night at this altitude and it wouldn’t dry otherwise.

The track, to the bottom left of this photo, wound down and round. Straining on the knees but the walking poles my SIG chums bought me as a leaving present do help a lot. I wouldn’t want to do more than a day’s walk without them. Thanks friends.

There was a track off to my right which was signposted Cascade, and the sound of running water, most unusual in this barren limestone terrain. I resisted the urge to trap down to the waterfall but the river caught up with the GR7 further down the valley.

And in the deeper pools I saw some small trout. The river doesn’t dry up in summer! After an hour following the riverside a tiny hamlet turned up, with a hostal. A well earned beer here, dear.

The view back up the valley from the Hostal’s covered terrace was impressive.

And setting off again going down the valley Vilafermosa was half an hour walk.

I checked in and fell asleep on the Hostal room balcony in the late afternoon sun. Hostal Ruta de Aragon. Cop this for a room with a view.

£36 bed, breakfast, evening meal and drinks (ice cold beer). Kiss my toms.

On that thought I’ll bid you……….

Night night.