Borders

Now that Ellen was back from her camping (which you don't know about since that was yesterday and I didn't take any photos yesterday so yesterday, the day without a photographic record and therefore the day most in need of saving in text, can't exist. There's a little Blipfoto paradox for you) we jumped out of bed bright and early, strapped the tandem to the roof, dangled two bikes of the back of the car and headed to the Borders for a spot of family camping. The Moores were already there, pitched directly opposite us and once we were set up we looked like complete saddoes in our matching ice cream tents.

But a fine campsite. Of course, apart from the fact that they allow fires, it is the complete opposite of camping (if Ray Mears is your idea of camping) with its covered area with picnic tables and a huge open fireplace, its kettles and microwave ovens and its fridge for the storing of beer, wine and, if necessary, food.

After a spot of croquet on the lawn it was time to singe some beef and drink beer around the roaring fire as the sun set.