It's a bit "Bertie Auld" for the camping at the moment, but I thought it was about time that we broached the subject of excursions away from the wall.
Camping trips to Yarrow near Peebles were a big thing back it the day.
All that was required was a few dried army rations, a hexi burner, some pot noodles, a few nude books, knives and a rake of beer and fags. Occassionally a bit of weed might be included. Sometimes we even took a tent.
Those were great weekends, getting away from the city. Seeing the stars without streetlights and breathing in fresh air.
Aye it kept you fit, especially if you had the rucksack fu' of drink.
The photo below (chored from Flikr) is definately the start of the valley. Click it for a good size enlargement.
Also found this, Cheryl Cole has discovered our best kept secret.
http://www.batistedryshampoo.co.uk/
I expect a few follow up entries on the outdoor life fellow bloggers.
1 comment:
I, those were the days! Coming back from the boozer with the "Old Pec" bottles hanging off yer combat jacket like some kind of alcohol crazy Vic Morrow. The forays up the river with an entrenching tool on the lookout for sheep with a death wish, or was it wishing for a dead sheep can't quite remember? The smell on waking up in the morning in the tent was worse than most sewer workers would smell in a lifetime. Meeting other camping groups and discussing recipes, being surprised that some campers preferred fish fingers over dried goods. That tickling sensation as the blades of grass stroked yer erse while having a good shit. Nothing could replace the campers 1000 yard stare caused by too many fags and being too close to the camp fire. I could go on all day...............
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