the route along the coast, stopping to take photos, scribble notes,
and eat a fish supper by the seashore; then ended the day with a pint
on Portobello Promenade as the pink sun sank through purple skies over
Fife. Surely a better way to celebrate being in Scotland than running
for 26 miles!
I care little for sport, so feel disinclined to write much about it.
But a quick glance around the Sporting Hall of Fame in the Museum of
Scotland demonstrates how Nationalism and sport are hard-wired into
the collective psyche. Wouldn’t it be better to define these fine
people by their sporting prowess or achievements, rather than by their
Scottishness? But there are rules; conditions of entry to such a
hallowed place: you have to be Scottish – whatever that means.
Having recently read Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods, his story
about not quite walking the Appalachian Trail with an over-weight
reformed alcoholic called Stephen Katz, I thought it might be
interesting to ponder what Bryson might ask Captain Robert Barclay
Allerdice, whose claim to fame was pretty unimpressive on the surface.
He walked. Well, I suppose, given Scotland’s unhealthy reputation, a
good walk wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
(and that’s from someone who just waxed lyrical about fish & chips
and beer, albeit soaked in sunshine, if not salt & sauce….)