A cold night's camping in the Borders

Aye, it's probably still a bit early in the year for camping and even though the nights are getting shorter, it still gets dark pretty early when all you've got for light is a head torch and all you've got for heat is the stuff that your body generates on its own. There's only one solution to this problem and on this occasion it was called The Bridge Inn in Peebles.

On the way back to the tents, having worked our way along the pub's real ale pumps (although mindful of the night time toilet arrangements, we didn't work our way back), the sky was clear, the moon was bright and the stars glittered like diamonds in the heavens. Our hearts sank at the meaning of this - cold. Very cold. A night sleeping fully clothed in a down sleeping bag on a down-filled air mat might not be enough to stay warm.

That night's camping, in the most expensive campsite we've ever encountered, was accompanied by the loud conversation of the occupants of the three wee tents that had appeared on Saturday afternoon. They were still at it at 2am and still at 6am, at which point they dismantled their tents, deposited their many empty beer cans in the bins and drove off.