Test for import export

The Load We decided to do the Pennine Way.  That is, allegedly, a 430km walk joining the wettest, boggiest parts of England and Southern Scotland (just). We being Us: Farther, Mother, Daughter and Son (48, 44, 13 and 11). Me being me, those numbers can only be viewed as correct-ish. We set off from our home one morning. It is a long drive to England. The weather was beautiful and the sun was shining as we pulled away. About 30 seconds later my son projectile vomited from the back seat all over me, himself and the back of the car. Talk about travel sickness and only 1,982km to go. It was bright pink as a result of the healthy black-current juice for breakfast. The Way A auspiciously pink start. Worried sick – at 11!!! We hadn’t really done anything on this scale before. But, we’d looked at the maps, read the websites and collected all of the gear. Tents, sleeping bags, waterproofs (ha ha) and a whole host of other essential items. You know phones, phone chargers, make up, mirrors et...

Free advertising The last day. 21km The End. Just have to walk a little bit more. That was the plan and of course in true English / Scottish weather fashion; it rained. The taxi back to Windy Gyle, Mr. Gruber racing away, and off we set. No more days to go following our logic: it would be easy. The low cloud and Scottish Mist meant that we didn’t see much of this easy day. The rain made life pleasant. The fog made it grey. The wind made it loud.  Bertha was still letting us know she had been through. A fitting finale to our walk.  A last reminder; ‘England my country, home of the free. Miserable weather.’  We had planned to climb the Cheviot, before entering Scotland. But, given that we couldn’t see it, we decided against going up into the cloud, sacred we would miss the top and just keep going. Apparently, not much of a view and boggy to boot. FYI: The Cheviot is entirely in England. The Glorious Twelfth wasn’t so glorious here. Rain and fog save the grouse. But there i...