So this time I voted for a shorter path - St Cuthbert's Way. It follows the life journey of the gentle and nature loving man who wanted to be a hermit, but was singled out by the depth of his faith and the breadth of his ability to become a prior. What I had failed to take account of was that the route lay through the mighty Cheviot Hills.
Pascoe joined us for the start and we explored the red sandstone ruins of Melrose Abbey with its ornate window tracery. We admired the sculpture of the bagpipe playing pig, and the inscription to the redoubtable mason, John Morrow. We were silent a moment at the spot where Robert the Bruce's heart was buried.
But then it was time to start. And what a start. The map contours were jostling eachother as we made the steep ascent to a saddle between two high hills. My hip was creaking and my mouth was whingeing. But after that harsh climb and descent it got gentler, often tracing the windings of the great river Tweed, accompanied by herons, sand martins and black-headed gulls.
Like Cuthbert himself, we took time to admire the nature around us, and we saw orchids, bell flowers, butter bur and sneezewort amongst others, and foraged wild cherries raspberries, whitecurrants, bilberries and sweet cicely.
But all that appreciation slowed us down so in the end we had to dash for the bus (which was to take us from the path to our B&B) and my creaky old hip proved it could do it, today at least.
