|The old Abbey|
We climbed up into the Cheviot Hills, which form the divide between the old enemies, Scotland and England. It was bleak up there - rain driving in horizontally and the wind howling and for the first time I balked at venturing outside for the perfect shot, preferring to shoot from behind window glass instead. The complaints of those who were mad enough to do the opposite were enough compensation. I missed a big rock with England written on one side and Scotland on the other ... I've seen borders before. The rocks are much the same, only the names change.
We had a motorway stop for lunch and the rain kept falling.
York was a mid afternoon stop of two and a half hours. Breaking away from the guided tour offered by the Director, Sue and I wandered lonely as clouds. The first discovery was the worst public toilet since leaving Australia. The cubicle I used had just been vacated by a guy shooting up but was the only one with a lock. Blokes were standing around in there for no apparent reason other than that which was apparent. The ladies was barely different.
|The city wall at York|
The last part of the afternoon was used in driving to Sheffield.
Unfortunately but not unexpectedly, the touring party are coming apart at the seams. The confines of touring life in a coach are too close for some and tempers are beginning to fray and polite ignorance is being replaced with indifference towards others feelings etc. Bring on tomorrow afternoon and our own freedom for a week in London by ourselves.