| Having spent 6 years living in London, among go-getters and city slickers, I thought I’d seen the fastest walkers the UK had to offer. But this weekend in St Andrews has shown that the truly speedy pedestrians live north of the wall (Hadrian’s, that is). People here really do march: I’ve spent the past couple of days walking the city streets with Mhairi and her flatmates and even for a long-legged chap like me it’s been a real test. When you think about it, their hurriedness makes perfect sense – it’s freezing up here, and usually raining. Everyone rushes from one place to the next so they spend the minimum amount of time exposed to the weather. It’s a clear contrast to Greece, where everyone moves slowly to keep their temp down.  |
| But if this theory is true, I don’t know why Mhairi and her flatmates march back to their house so keenly: it’s freezing. In fact, their house is so cold that after just two nights there I’m starting to get a sniffly nose and sore throat. They’ve not had the heating on once this year, which is impressive, given it’s late November and they live in northern Scotland. They hang their washing up on a clothes horse in the lounge, which is a truly pointless exercise – no laundry will ever dry in that cold, windless room. |
  The main activity of the weekend was cycling. On Friday morning, I rode from Dundee to St Andrews in quite possibly the strongest wind I’ve ever ridden a bike in. I rode over the Tye bridge into a block headwind, going at about walking pace (regular English walking pace, that is). It was so windy, and I was going so slowly, that there was nothing to do about it but laugh out loud. I know, I’m bloody bonkers eh? Jokes aside, there is something quite nice about feeling the power of the wind like that. Made me wish I had windsurfing kit with me.   On Saturday, we donned lycra and took our hangovers on a trip to the countryside. Of course, it was cold, dark and rainy, but we were in high spirits, even saying things like, ‘no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing’. Sadly, we were forced to eat these words about an hour later, when freezing, sodden and downtrodden we skulked into a countryside cafe, hoping the waitress wouldn’t notice that we were covered in mud. Thankfully a slice of cake and a hot chocolate sorted us right out, and as we left the skies brightened.   This morning, after another delightful evening with Mhairi’s pals, I put on cold, wet cycling kit and rode back to Dundee. The radiator in the passenger lounge was a godsend. When you’ve been consistently cold for two days straight it seems impossible to warm up, like there’s some core part of you that needs thawing out before you can return to normal body temperature once again. I’m writing this from a warm flat in Aberdeen. A welcome change. No but srsly, thanks for a lovely weekend Mhairi. Was far better than this whinge of an email lets on. Love to you all, James |
A Chieftain, to the Highlands Bound
