Graham

Ian's Father, Graham, had his 79th birthday on Sunday, so a trip to The Borders was in order. Strictly speaking, of course, it was his 80th birthday, since ones first birthday is the day of ones birth, but let's not be pedantic.


Having made a cake and some biscuits, Ian, the dogs and I left our home, heading south, just after lunch. Graham would be out most of the afternoon playing bowls, so we took the opportunity to go for a walk around Dryburgh. The footbridge scares me, dear reader. It swings.


After crossing the bridge, we found The Temple Of The Muses. What an enchanted, romantic and mythical place! I half expected to see fairies dancing in the trees. The only fairies there, sadly, were Ian and I. I took a picture of him posing as a muse, though to whom, I cannot be sure. Click here to see it.


From the temple, by way of a twenty minute walk, the Wallace Statue can be reached. I have been there before, twice or three times, and seen William in all his original glory. Can you imagine my shock and horror, my little maid, on seeing blue and white paint daubed all over his shield by some crazed nationalist?

Pure graffiti. Vandalism.

Only proving the point that colouring in is for children or, at least, those with the mental age of an infant.


The Eildon Hills as seen from the Wallace Statue.


My shock and horror, dear reader, were one thing, my delight at finding a Wallace Statue visitors' book was another!


Ian left an entry on our behalf.


Minge, Meg, Mary and William Wallace.


My dear daughters in the woods below the statue, en route back to the footbridge and car.


Our short walk over, we drove over to St Boswells and to Ian's Father's house. With still an hour to spare until his expected return, we pottered about in the garden stealing plants for ourselves. Well, not stealing, exactly. Graham had said we could help ourselves. It's too much for him and he's soon to ask a neighbour to dig all the herbaceous beds up and lay turf. Taking plants from St Boswells and transplanting them into our own garden has proven to be something of a success and seeing the plants which Dot, Ian's Mother, used to tend is a poignant reminder that life goes on, perhaps in more ways than the human mind can understand.

Graham returned to his house an hour or so later. After receiving his card and gifts, we headed straight out to one of Graham's favourite haunts in Earlston for a bite to eat. He had chicken salad. Ian had prawn salad. I bucked the trend and with gay abandon, indulged in the calorie and fat laden scampi and chips.

I took a photograph of Ian and his Dad. If you want to see it, hen, click here.

We followed the delicious meal with no dessert! I know! Shocking, isn't it...!


Instead, we went back to Graham's place for some of the delicious cake Ian had baked that morning. Beautiful. Light. Scented with vanilla. Filled with home-made raspberry jam.