Enjoy the silence

Gala Day. We took our first trip on the Borders Railway, through stations with no places, graffitti with as yet no competition, big blank spaces for amateur tags; embankments, cuttings deep. Through a frosty land. 'Winter is hard in these lands' (narration playing). Whole valleys in shadow. Will the sun ever hit? My god, it's cold. Nuthatches, doing their mini woodpeecker thing, were a sign that we had travelled far. Well, not that far, but birds are funny like that. Please can we have little owls?! We failed to follow the signs, jumped a cold stream, were annoyed, but stopped in the sun - you can feel it, wow! - for cheesy rolls, and bourbon to filip insides and minds, and take in the view of not-Scott's view. At many steps the Tour de Gala reminded of many moments on French walks - above towns before big descents, trying to spot our place for the night, swimming pools below, barking dogs and electric fences. We lost the trail, but let's get lost, lead us where we dare - through a night wood onto the moor - wrong way, but a good way, then back, retrace, down, down, down. And she was beautiful. She curled up on the cold train. At the end of the day, it had all been too much...