A small Borders town

Over 40 years ago, (1967 to be precise) when Lady of the House and I were just engaged, I was living in Watford, and used to travel up on Friday overnight by coach (11 hours!) from London to Glasgow to visit her, and make sure the wedding was still on!

The coach had a few ‘comfort stops’, and the one north of the Scottish border was in a small neat market town. We knew when we had arrived there as we were rudely wakened from our slumber by the lights going on and the doors being opened. We were graciously allowed the facilities of the local hotel, before we headed on our last leg to the arms of our loved ones, and Lockerbie to its own devices.

Fast forward to  Christmas-tide 1988 and we were preparing for the festivities. Son was still at school and Daughter preparing for her passing-out parade at the Scottish Police College the next day.

We had promised hospitality to the young son of friends, who was driving up the A74 (which skirts a number of pleasant small market towns), and my folks who were over from Ireland and were also driving north.

They had all arrived safely and we were looking forward to having a Happy Christmas…..and then we turned on the television and heard what had happened to that little Borders town……………….

Another day, another car….

Last Monday was a holiday, and the lure of a drive to another part of Scotland was strong. My old CRV has 105,000 miles on the clock so is a bit tired; young Lady’s Civic has to be preserved for when CRV gives up; and son’s BMW needs its own petrol tanker coming behind it. So Daughter, who has just acquired a new Ford Focus, volunteered to give the new car a run into the Scottish/English Border area.

Peebles is one of those areas which is what is a REAL Market Town…..with REAL shops. It is situated on the River Tweed, well known for the fishing. The approach is by quite narrow roads and a sudden twist into the Main Street. It is wonderfully wide, but don’t expect to get easy parking on a nice day. On both sides of the road, you will find every kind of specialist shop, including a great book shop (for Son and me), and shoe shops (for the ladies).

Picnicking was possible on the riverbank, and we watched children happily playing about. Then we walked along the river, and through the rugby grounds. If the borders is known for nothing else, the rugby features highly in the social life of this whole region.

A visit to our favourite group of art and craft shops was essential, and a slightly-roundabout journey back took us to the source of the River Tweed, and a Devil’s Beeftub, a very deep valley in the shape of a deep bowl near Moffat. Back to Daughter’s where she served-up her usual high-quality food ( a gift acquired from my Young Lady) and a snooze, before being driven back home by Son in his BMW.

……………nothing startling, but just a nice day!